


Too Close for Comfort

by AngularNotions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 65,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngularNotions/pseuds/AngularNotions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak had always had a nice quiet, boring life, but longed for more. When Dean Winchester, his gorgeous coworker showed an interest in befriending him, he thought that finally his life was about to get more interesting. But he got a lot more than he bargained for when Dean's interest turns dangerous.</p><p>Stalker!Dean, Castiel!POV<br/>There is character death! But it is almost welcome at the end!<br/>Inspired by this post:<br/>http://angularnotions.tumblr.com/post/36317200299/au-meme-stalker-dean-cas-for-andrea-dont-be</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

(picture credit [theangelcastiel](http://theangelcastiel.tumblr.com/))

 

* * *

 

Ever get the feeling you’re being watched? Like there is a set of eyes just boring into your body or head but you can’t find the source.

This is me right now.

Someone is watching me.

I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, that uneasy curl of tension and self-awareness that is probably instinct. But every time I look around, try to find the source of my discomfort, there’s nothing there.

It doesn’t make any sense really, who would be watching me? I’m boring and unattractive. I work in accounting in a moderate sized company that manufactures mannequin’s of all things. I live alone, with a cat named Steve, in a small house in the nice area of town. I’m average height, short brunette slightly wavy hair that never stays put, always sticking out at odd angles, and what could hardly be considered a perfect physique. Sure, I’m muscular, I run every day, though usually only to check out the hot women who are also out running, but I’m hardly a stud muffin. Which is why despite my best efforts, I have yet to have managed to score a date with any of the hot woman I come across running. Most of them just encourage me to keep running, brushing me off; the others just ignore me. I kinda respect the ones who ignore me more, at least they make their feelings known right from the get go, they don’t try to molly-coddle me.

But my point is, I’m nothing special.

So why in hell would someone be watching me?

Shaking my head at my ridiculousness I make my way to my desk to work. I’m being stupid, no one would be watching me, there’s no reason to, I’m just being an idiot as usual. At least I haven’t said anything to anyone about it, they’d think I was nuts for sure.

“Morning Castiel.” Growling female voice that can only be one person. Spinning on my heel I come face to face with Ellen Harvelle, manager of accounts. Much like the women who molly-coddle me in the park, Ellen feels the needs to treat me like a child that needs help and encouragement, but unlike the other women, Ellen is less friendly about it.

Her hand reaches forward to fix my tie, again, since it always seems to flip over of it’s own accord the moment I’m about to see her, as though my own tie is out to get me.

“You might want to consider investing in a clip you know Novak, this is getting ridiculous.”

A handful of biting comments go through my head but all I manage is “yes, ma’am.” Why the hell do I turn into such a simpering idiot around her?

Her dark eyes flicker up to my face, she clearly notices the red seeping into my cheeks, which is just great, now she’s going to think I have the hots for her, she probably thinks I’m doing the tie thing on purpose.

“I need the paperwork from the first quarter by the end of the day today.”

With that she turns and stalks away, shaking her head slightly. I wait until she’s a safe distance before muttering, “why can’t you say please once in a while.”

“You talking to yourself Novak?”

Fuck.

I don’t even need to turn to know its Dean Winchester and his smug, arrogant ass.

“Dude, you seriously need to lose the trench coat, you’re already an accountant, are you trying to not get laid?”

As it always happens when I’m around Dean, I get intimidated and am never able to come up with a smarmy come back, at least not until like twenty minutes later.

The asshole is grinning at me, hint of scruff on his cheeks and his rumpled t-shirt and jeans making him look even more like a Greek God. It was unfair really that I, Castiel Novak, mousiest man on the planet had to be stuck in the same department as this asshole. I don’t know what I did to get such shitty karma, but I really want to file an appeal on that.

Mind drawing a blank I flip Dean a stern stare, which only seems to make him laugh more and stalk to my dark little cubicle. Trust Dean to make me feel even more like a loser before the day had even begun. I’d bought the trench coat the day I got hired, this was my first real job since graduating and I wanted to look professional and now I just feel ridiculous.

The morning drags on. I knew becoming an accountant wasn’t going to provide me with a glamorous lifestyle, but at the time I was deciding it seemed like a good, strong, practical, stable career, and since I was good with numbers it just made sense. Now, I fucking hate it. This was the first job offer I got, after a seemingly endless stream of interviews and I was panicking. Now, five years in, I’m stuck in a company that manufactures creepy human statues to display clothes. Hell, maybe the eyes I keep feeling watching me are actually the mannequin’s, judging me from their store-front windows.

What seems like years later, lunchtime finally rolls around and I prepare myself to head out to my usual sandwich shop. I had attempted bringing a bag lunch from home a few times but it always seemed to disappear from the fridge, to the quiet snickers of some of my co-workers, so I gave up.

Now I just go to the little Italian deli on the corner every day, and sit by myself, reveling in the quiet. I know the Italian woman behind the counter pities me and on more than one occasion has attempted to strike up a conversation between her daughter and I, but it hadn’t caught on to anything. Gabriella wasn’t hard on the eyes, petite, brunette and almost as mousy as me, but it was clear that I wasn’t what she was looking for.

I had learned long ago how to ninja my way through the office at lunch to avoid having my co-workers ask where I was going and today was no exception. I just wanted to keep my lunchtime routine to myself, to avoid being mocked or harassed for it. Plastics Incorporated was more like a high school than a real business.

Feeling confident of my abilities I punch the elevator button and wait for it to arrive for my final skulk out of the building.

“Novak!”

The voice is right in my ear and I jump and see my hands flail of their own volition before I can stop them. Turning with my heart pounding in my chest I’m greeted by Dean’s stupid grinning face.

“Dude, where are you going? Let’s go grab lunch together!”

I am gob-smacked. Since when does Dean Winchester want to spend time with me other than that which he spends mocking me? Despite myself and all of the warning bells that this is a trick going off my in head, I nod and feel ever so slightly chuffed that the popular guy wants to hang out with me. Suddenly now I want people to see me, going with Dean to get lunch like we are old buddies, then maybe they would see me as more of a peer, someone who is also cool.

Once on street level he turns to me expectantly, I can see that he is finding my dead silence somewhat amusing, but there is no malice in his eyes.

Since I continue to just stare dumbly and smile meekly he breaks the silence.

“Where do you want to go to get grub?”

“Uh,” my voice squeaks out, embarrassed I clear my throat quickly, “I usually go to Gino’s on the corner.”

He glances past me and towards the deli with interest on his face.

“Cool, I’ve never been there.”

As though it’s all agreed he starts walking and I have to jog a few steps to catch up with him.

The door sounds it’s familiar chime as we go in and Rita looks up and nods at me as usual but then spots Dean and her face lights up in surprise.

"Do you come here every day?” Dean whispers at me as he watches Rita’s first familiar glance in my direction.

“Uh, yeah.” Immediately I regret admitting that, I sound like such a loser. Why couldn’t I have lied and said something like, it’s just a place I’ve tried before, one of many.

“Cool, it seems great.” Dean replies and I breathe a little sigh of relief.

Gabriella comes out from the back and I feel Dean elbow me in the ribs when she throws me a congenial smile.

“Is that why you come here every day?” His tone is curious, darkly playful, but when I glance at him, his stare is rather intense. Feeling unnerved under the scrutiny I feel compelled to be honest.

“Uh no, non-starter.” Dean visibly relaxes, and I’m just confused. What the hell was that? Maybe he wants to have a shot at her and didn’t want me as competition. Though for the life of me I can’t see why Dean would be interested in her, he has his pick of supermodelesque women, why would he be interested in a mousy girl who works at a deli?

I don’t get much time to think about it because I’m getting another elbow in the ribs.

“So what’s good here?”

After much consternation and a lot of playful jabs from Dean about my supreme knowledge of the menu, we sit down with our sandwiches at a table near the window.

"So Castiel, what do you do for fun?”

Startled by the sudden question I drop my salad fork on the floor and spend a few seconds fumbling before reaching for it, but his hand gets there first. As we both sit back up he gives me a gentle smile before standing up and going to the counter to retrieve a clean one for me. He hands it to me with another smile and sits back down.

"Let's try that again, what do you do for fun?”

Without thinking I blurt out "why do you want to know?”

He pauses in his chewing for a moment, looking surprised at my hostile reaction and I feel bad immediately.

"Well, we've been working together for five years and I don't really know you, just trying to make conversation.”

My regret at my first reaction is replaced by annoyance.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way but you haven't exactly made an effort you know, in fact you've gone out of your way to make my life miserable, bordering on hell at that place since I started, so I'm sorry if I haven't shared much with you.”

He stares at me quietly, his mouth open, sandwich in his hand forgotten and as is my usual reaction when I actually state my feelings, I immediately feel bad despite the fact that I've only spoken the truth.

"Cas, I uh, I'm sorry if it's seemed that way, I was only joking with you, I never meant any harm by it.”

His face is pure shock and horror, and I realize that maybe I had been blowing things out of proportion all this time, so used to being attacked as I have been my entire life by bullies, I guess I just saw them everywhere, even when they weren't there.

Unable to hold his gaze in my guilt, I avert my eyes to the mushy slice of tomato falling out the side of my sandwich.

"Sorry, I just, people have razzed me my entire life and maybe I took it the wrong way.”

"It's ok, I'll try to lighten up a bit on the jokes I guess.”

I throw him a quick smile.

"You still need to lose the trench coat though.”

Are you kidding me? Glaring at him now I can see the amusement playing about his eyes, but there is a more congenial feel to it and I smile despite myself.

The rest of lunch passes calmly, with minimal flatware throwing and overreactions on my part. Dean tells me about growing up in Lawrence, Kansas with his ex-military father and younger brother. I can see the fondness in his eyes when he discusses Sam, and how proud he is of the kid for going to law school.

We take our time walking back to the office, it's a nice day, probably the last nice day of the year before winter shits itself all over Chicago and we want to enjoy it.

"How did you end up here then? If your brother is in California, why didn't you find a job out there to be near him?” Both of his parents are dead and I am genuinely curious as to why he chose not to be close the only family he has left.

He considers me for a moment before staring ahead, not focusing on anything in particular, shrugging one shoulder.

"First job I was offered I guess, I mean, my brother and I spent so much time together growing up, with dad moving us around all the time that we decided maybe it was time to find our own paths in life, well at least that’s what Sam told me. I just took this job cuz I ran out of money in Chicago and needed to replenish.”

"And you never left.”

He smirks at me, peering at me peripherally. "Yes, I never left, I like it here, job's mindless, good pay and my brother doesn't have to worry about me.”

As we get back on our floor I see Ellen staring at us in surprise and I can't help but feel the glow inside me. I feel like I have finally been accepted here, that I am part of some secret circle now, funny how just one lunch can do that.

This is quickly erased when she calmly walks up to me and readjusts my tie again. I hear Dean chuckle softly beside me before he says “see you later” and heads off towards his own cubicle.

Grumbling to myself I return to work and manage to finish my assignment in the nick of time.

Plopping the papers on Ellen's desk and grabbing my coat I head for the elevator. Dean's there waiting already and grins at me as I approach.

"Another day done eh, Novak?”

I feel that glow of having a friend return and laugh softly with him. We get on the elevator together, along with a few of the girls from design who are both throwing eyes at Dean and giggling. I notice that neither of them even glances in my direction, at least not until Dean starts talking to me again, then they glare at me openly because they aren't receiving his undivided attention.

"Any plans for tonight Cas?”

Cas, I have a new nickname, better than Novak. The glow intensifies.

"Uh, nothing in particular, I like to just fly by the seat of my pants and stuff.”

My cheeks grow hot, I sound like an idiot.

"Uh huh, I would totally believe that of an accountant who wears a beige trench coat.”

The heat in my cheeks intensifies, but I start forcing a laugh, trying to pretend I was just joking and thankfully Dean seems to buy it and joins in.

We land on the lobby floor and the two girls leave ahead of us, both throwing Dean one more flirtatious glance, hoping he'll finally notice them, he doesn't. This strikes me as odd. Dean has one hell of a reputation on the floor as a player, despite the fact that he works in accounts and should be as boring as me. But he hasn't even glanced at these two girls, his attention has been on me the entire time and while I'm not exactly complaining, I find it strange, but not enough to risk ruining our new friendship by asking.

We get outside and head towards the parking lot. Dean of course drives a gorgeous sleek, black, old muscle car, perfectly suited to his personality. I drive a Prius. It's grey, practical and boring as hell.

I see Dean eyeball it a little, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

"Dude, we need to work on some of your choices, I thought the trench coat was bad, but seriously?” He's pointing at my car.

"It's better on the environment than that one.” I state hotly. I'm now pointing at his car and we are in a standoff.

He regards me for a moment, the smile still on his mouth, before nodding and saying "see you tomorrow” and climbing in his car, revving the engine extra loudly in emphasis of how much sexier his car is before he peels out of the lot.

I don't care what Dean Winchester says; I like my car. Except now I feel kinda self-conscious driving it. Damn him.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean joins me for lunch every day for the rest of the week. For most people this would not be considered suspicious activity, gaining a new friend is always welcomed for the majority of the population. For me, it's weird. The first few days it's fine, and I enjoy being the centre of his attention, but by Thursday, I am feeling like I'm almost too much in his attention, like he can't seem to get enough of me. I realize I'm being ridiculous, that it's probably because I’m not used to having friends, or even people I socialize with in any kind of regular manner. I've always been a loner, though not always by choice, but I do enjoy my time to myself to clear my head and do whatever I want to do without being judged or criticized for it. Dean won't allow me this during the day and when he showed up at my house Wednesday after work, jovially asking me to come out for drinks with him because it was cheap night at his favourite bar, I felt uncomfortable.

At the same time, I don't want to lose him as a friend. I don't want my own stupid insecurities to push him away, and mentally chastised myself every time I wanted to leave the bar because even though I wasn't used to having a social life, that didn't mean I couldn't have one and I just had to get used to it.

Dean meets me in the parking lot Friday morning, big stupid grin on his face as usual.

"Cas man, what's up? TGIF right?”

"Yeah, yeah, sure.” His arm is already around my shoulders, guiding me down the sidewalk in a friendly manner. We pass Bobby outside and I nod at him when I realize he is staring at us. Or rather, Dean, he's staring at Dean, his facial expression is strange, and very serious and I can't get a read on it. I glance up at Dean when I feel his arm tense and I can't help but wonder what the hell is going on. Dean gives Bobby a stern expression and nods curtly as we pass. As soon as we are through the big double glass doors he visibly relaxes and the stupid grin returns.

Bobby is an odd duck. He works in design, which is odd enough, since he's the one who decides on the body shape and facial expressions for the mannequins we manufacture, but he's also very intense on a good day. He clearly doesn't have much of a sense of humour, but he really seems to have a problem with Dean. I figure it's none of my business and just carry on, but I can't help the niggle of worry that settles in my gut every time I picture Bobby's face outside. Something isn't right.

The day passes quickly, Dean stops by my desk at least once an hour to bug me about coming out tonight to the bar to hang out. He says a lot of people from work meet at that bar on Fridays nights, and I wonder why I haven't heard about this at all in the last five years. In fact this is the first time I have been invited and there is a part of me that is angry enough about that to be pissy and just say no, and I do a few times, but eventually Dean wears me down.

As usual, he walks me to my car, eyebrow up in amusement at my choice and informs me he will pick me up at 10 and to leave the trench coat at home.

I scowl at him, and he laughs harder before throwing me a wave and climbing into his muscle car and speeding away.

My first thought as I sit in Chicago rush hour traffic on the 90 is that 10 seems awfully late to start an evening, but maybe that's how things normally are. I'm so inexperienced with social norms that it never even occurred to me that people don't start their evenings off at a sensible hour like 7 or 8.

Another car cuts me off, the driver flipping me the bird for daring to be on the road and I sink into my seat. I don't know why I'm so incapable of defending myself.

Bobby's face flashes through my mind, we'd run into him again outside the office this afternoon as we were walking in, Dean's arm draped around my shoulders as usual and this time the older man had stared at me in what I can only describe as alarm. Dean had to physically steer me around Bobby for us to pass as the older man stepped into our path and it looked as though he was going to say something but Dean pulled me away too fast.

I can't come up with a reason for his behaviour, like most of my coworkers, I had barely spoken to the man, so why is he suddenly so interested in me and my friendship with Dean. Then again, why is Dean suddenly so interested in me?

And how does Dean know where I live?

This thought hits me so suddenly I slam on my brakes and damn near get rear ended by an SUV, the driver of which hits the horn heavily in protest. Guiding my car onto the off ramp and to safety, alarm courses through my veins as I realize I never even stopped to wonder at his knowing where I live when he had just showed up randomly on Wednesday. He was also planning on picking me up at my house tonight.

I know there has to be a rational explanation, maybe he looked me up in the phone book or something, but it's still sorta odd, why wouldn't he just ask?

I try to calm myself as I drive down the familiar streets, I know I'm being ridiculous, that Dean is a friend and its just what friends do. But when I finally get home, the niggling in the back of my head hasn't gone away, though increasing panic over the events of the night to come is quickly overshadowing it.

It's funny, I've always wanted friends, to have some semblance of a normal social life, a girlfriend, the whole package but now that its actually happening, I sorta want to cancel, put on my pajamas and watch season 5 of Doctor Who with Steve. I suck at social situations and had sat silently beside Dean at the bar on Wednesday after any attempt I made at conversation failed miserably. It didn't help that I felt totally out of place in my black suit that was too big and my blue tie that refused to stay the right way forward. This time it was the bartender who reached across and fixed it for me, calling me a 'cutie' and speaking to me as though I was a small child playing at dress up.

I tell myself not to be a coward; that I need to be more normal and if I cancel, Dean may not want to be my friend anymore. Besides, maybe tonight will be better, I've got more time to get ready and perhaps practice makes perfect. Maybe I'll even meet a girl, stranger things have happened, especially this week.

Steve follows me from the front door to the kitchen, chirping for food the entire way. I consider dinner for myself but settle for feeding Steve first so he will shut up and then head into my bedroom to decide on what to wear.

My closet is a perfect sea of black and grey suits with white shirts and neutral ties. God I am so boring.

Should I wear a suit to the bar? Just the pants with a white shirt? Fuck. This shouldn't be that hard.

No; definitely not a suit; that was a disaster on Wednesday.

Sifting through my drawers I find a pair of jeans that seem to fit, though the cuffs are a little short. I wish I had a nice pair of motorcycle boots like Dean so people wouldn't be able to see my socks. I find an old University of Chicago t-shirt under the jeans in the drawer and put it on. I add a leather belt, and a dark blue button down shirt on top that I leave open like I've seen Dean do and survey myself in the mirror. I look ok, a little less bookwormish, despite my ankles showing in the jeans. I roll up the sleeves on the shirt in what I think is a messy, sorta sexy way and run my hands through my hair, attempting to loosen the gel that holds it stiffly in place for work. Almost immediately a cowlick springs up at the top of my head and no amount of fiddling with my fingers will tame it back down again.

After reapplying some more gel to calm the unruly tuft I decide I'm probably as good as I'm going to get. My footwear options are even less exciting than my clothes, with my black loafers I wear for work being the slightly better option over my white running shoes.

When I'm finally some semblance of satisfied with my look, I check the time. It's only 6:30. Talk about premature, I'm ready far too early and by the time Dean shows up, I'll be covered in cat hair and I can already feel the dampness in my armpits, so I'll stink too. Great.

Now what. I sit on the bed for a moment, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants and consider what I can do to pass the time. I check my cellphone for messages and there's nothing, same for my landline.

I realize that maybe it'll be a good idea to eat something, to not drink on an empty stomach and all that.

Heading back into the kitchen my stomach feels like lead with nerves, but I start looking for something to eat anyway. Steve meows at me from the floor and I bend and scratch his ear.

I hadn't intended on getting a pet, but he had shown up one day, with matted ginger fur, cold and skinny and had decided I was his new owner. We are a lot alike in so many ways, so it works as a relationship. Though the day I started talking to him like he was a human, I knew I had truly lost it.

"What do you want? I've already fed you."

He meows once more before sauntering off into the living room and perching in the front window to watch the neighbours.

My neighbours are an odd bunch, though I guess I'm pretty odd myself, but I try not to associate with them too much. The neighbourhood is small, and older with a lot of war time sized bungalows in drab colours with postage stamp lots. The guy to my left is Anton Baumgartner, a 90-something German man with a heavy accent and peculiar obsession with his lawn. When Steve moved in with me, Anton had angrily informed me over our shared fence that if he ever caught my red rat on his grass, he'd shoot him. Charming. Though I have heard the man was something of a hero in WWII, rescuing hundreds of people from the camps. I don't know what happened since then, but his grass seems to be his only friend and family. I guess having a cat isn't too bad, all things considered.

On the right is Rose Denton, she's in her 60's, works at a dental office nearby and has four daughters, all of whom she attempted to marry me off to when she found out I was educated, had a job and owned the house myself. The daughters husbands were less than amused.

Across is Mrs. Pinney, she's your typical sweet old grandma type during the day, complete with cable knit sweaters and pearls. At night, she drinks and can often be heard yelling at the neighbourhood kids.

Beside her is Maria Angeles, single mother of two raucous boys, but she's pretty nice herself.

We all seem used to each other, and I know they find me odd, a thirty something guy living on his own with a cat. I'm fairly certain Anton thinks I'm gay, but he's never said as much, I wonder what he thought of Dean when he pulled up on Wednesday.

After scouring the cupboards for twenty minutes I finally settle on having some toast with honey, which would do little in regards to what Anton thinks I am, but whatever, it's the only thing I think I can get down right now.

I watch jeopardy as I eat, and as usual I know most of the answers. I have considered trying out for the show a few times, but always chicken out. I have a hard time being in the spotlight of just a few people, or Dean alone as the case may be, so I can't imagine being on national television with that many people staring at me, what if I fuck it up?

The phone rings at about 8, startling me entirely and for one split second I'm hoping its Dean calling to cancel, but instead it's my Aunt, calling to check up on me. My parents died when I was 15 in a car accident, I was an only child and my grandparents were already gone so I was sent to live with my Aunt in Milwaukee. She works in theatre production and is about as loopy as they come. To say her lasse faire way of life clashed with my OCD one would be putting it mildly. She still calls though, to check in on me, mostly to see if I have a girlfriend yet. She was horrified when I said I wanted to be an accountant, it was almost like I had told her I was becoming a serial killer. But she's had time to adjust, and was happy that at least I was no longer her problem. Like Anton, I think she thinks I'm gay, she drops a lot of hints about all lifestyles being ok with her.

"Still living with just your cat?" Her tone is a poor attempt at brevity, I hear the sadness underneath that I'm such a failure in her eyes.

"Yes, Steve and I are doing fine." I know it annoys her that I talk about my cat like he's a real person in my life, so I try to do it often.

"Oh, and how's work?"

I consider for a moment not telling her about my new friendship with Dean and the subsequent social life that is building from it, but as much as I love to annoy my Aunt with my cat talk, I know she's genuinely concerned for me, she wouldn't have taken me in otherwise, family or not.

"Good, going out with some coworkers tonight to the bar actually."

"Oh!" Her voice going up a few octaves in surprise and excitement, I can't help but feel a warmth of happiness in my chest, for once I'm not disappointing her. "Well darling, I won't keep you then, you go on and have some fun with your friends."

"I will, we aren't heading out til 10 though, so I'm just relaxing now." I try to sound nonchalant, like the timing is all perfectly normal and something I'm used to.

"10? That seems a bit late?" I can hear her voice wobble and I know she's now wondering if I'm lying to her about my plans for the evening and a pang of annoyance replaces the warm glow.

"10 is normal, the bar doesn't really pick up speed until then anyway." I'm hoping she buys this, because to be honest, I have no idea why we are going so late and there was no way in hell I was asking Dean for an explanation.

"I see." She sounds distant now. Dammit.

"I should get going anyways, go get ready before Dean gets here, it was good talking to you."

"Dean? Who's Dean?" Her voice is perking up again, clearly she think I have a date with Dean.

"He's a work colleague, he's driving tonight, we are meeting everyone else at the bar."

"Oh." And she's deflated again. Honestly, she has more of a stake in my sex life than I do. "Is that Ellen woman going?"

Here's another thing, ever since I told my Aunt about Ellen and her gruff manners with me (something I regret I might add), she has been holding the view that Ellen is interested in me, in a schoolboy bullying the girl he likes in fourth grade sort of way. Repeated protestations on my part stating the contrary have gone in one ear and out the other.

"No, Ellen is my boss, I'm sure she's at home with her husband and kids." My tone is biting, but I'm beyond tired of this conversation.

"It really is scandalous the way she carries on with you, but I have heard of those cougar women going after younger men because their sex drives are more in line with each other...."

Ok, time to get off the phone.

"Listen, Aunt Shelly, I have to go, but I'll talk to you tomorrow ok?" I cut her off.

"Oh! Ok dear, well you have fun with your friend Dean," there's a definite inflection in the way she says friend, but I choose to ignore it. "Talk to you tomorrow then."

"Right, talk to you tomorrow, good night."

I hang up before she can go off again and put my face in my hands. It's tough when the only family you have left in the world drives you insane.

With her off the phone, I'm back to panicking about tonight. It's only a quarter to nine, but my hands are sweating and my shirt is definitely damp under the arms.

I open a window and stand flapping my t-shirt in front of it. Mrs. Pinney is on her porch, glass tumbler in hand, glowering at a teenager walking down the sidewalk. The kid glances up, sees her and picks up speed as he passes. Then she glances up and sees me, flapping the bottom of my shirt in front of the window and her eyes widen. I then realize just how lewd my actions must look from her angle and embarrassment washes over me. I hold both hands up to show them empty and quickly retreat back to the couch, my cheeks burning.

I try to find something to watch on TV, repeatedly scooting Steve off my lap to minimize the hair on my pants and hoping Mrs. Pinney hasn't called the cops on me.

I finally find an interesting documentary on PBS about Henry VIII and it manages to keep my attention until I hear Deans car roaring down the street.

I hear him park and the door slam and him calling hello across the street to someone, probably Mrs. Pinney before he bangs his fist on my door.

I take a deep breath before opening it, collecting my nerves and rechecking to make sure I don't look ridiculous, I get enough jabs from him all week about my apparel, for once I'd like to avoid that.

When I open the door I immediately feel ridiculous in comparison. Dean is wearing faded blue jeans with rips in the knees and just the right fit low on his belly, while mine are closer to my belly button. His grey Henley shows his muscular angles and the sleeves are haphazardly rolled up, while mine look like I took an hour and a ruler getting them perfect. He's wearing his usual five-o-clock shadow and bronze amulet around his neck that his brother gave him and his leather boots.

I notice him looking me up and down and feel deflated, waiting for him to criticize me or say he's not going anywhere with me looking like this but his expression stays soft, taking me in slowly and suddenly I'm feeling uncomfortable under the intensity of it as he drinks me in.

"I..." I immediately start stuttering. "Is this ok? I didn't know how dressy the place was."

My talking seems to snap him out of a haze and his eyes lock on mine for a moment before a smirk pulls his mouth up.

"Do I look like the sort of guy who goes to a dressy bar?"

My fingers fiddling with the bottom of my shirt, I shake my head no.

"Good, cuz that's the last thing I want anyone thinking. You ready to go? Wanna call a cab for us? Is it alright if I leave my car here?"

I realize I never even asked where this bar is, or how we would be getting there. If he's leaving his car here, does that mean he's spending the night? The neighbours will be scandalized.

"Uh, sure." I wave him into the house and he drops his keys next to mine in the bowl by the door like he lives here. He walks right past me into the living room and looks around for a moment before spotting Steve and moving away.

"You have a cat?"

"Uh yeah, stray, I took him in, his name is Steve."

Steve flattens his orange ears to his head, glaring at Dean before jumping down from the window and scooting off into the bedroom.

"Oh, I'm allergic myself," says Dean, he visibly relaxes when Steve leaves the room.

I grab the phone and call for a taxi to pick us up, Dean feeding me the destination address and I'm surprised to hear we are going downtown into the loop. When I get off the phone, things are awkward and quiet and I'm not sure if I should offer him a drink when we are waiting for a cab and we are heading to a bar anyway. Dean moves around the room in his liquid way, checking out my DVD collection, throwing me a look when he spots all the Doctor Who box sets, and moves on to the book shelf. He picks up a photo of my Aunt and I on my graduation day from university. My Aunt looks less than pleased in the photo, she was still coming to terms with the fact that I had gone through with it and hadn't changed my major to art history or theatre production.

"This your mom?"

"Um, no, my Aunt Shelly." I haven't told Dean about my family, even though he's told me about his. I hate the dead family conversation, though we have a lot in common that way, but I always get more pity and people always assume I turned out like an anal neurotic loser because I lost them. Truth is, I was one before they died.

"You haven't told me much about your family."

I scratch the back of my neck to waste time, here we go, the conversation I wanted to avoid. But he did share with me, I guess it's only fair.

"My parents are dead, like yours, died when I was 15 in a car crash, she is my only family, it's no biggie."

Dean looks at me then, sadness around his eyes and I wait for the oncoming pity but he nods after a moment.

"Believe me man, I know losing your family is a biggie, but I know why you don't like talking about it too." He quietly puts the picture down and I release my breath.

I see the headlights in the driveway and am grateful for the reprieve. I'm not used to having people in my house looking at my stuff, it's like standing naked in the middle of the room. With Dean it's even more nerve wracking because I feel so ridiculous in comparison to him.

"Uh, cabs here." I incline my head towards the front door and he throws me a quick smile before turning towards it.

He waits on the step with me as I lock the door and throws an arm around my shoulders as usual as we walk towards the taxi, laughing in glee as though we are about to have the best night ever and maybe we will.

I glance across the street one more time before I get in the cab and Mrs. Pinney is still there, watching us curiously and once again, Bobby's face comes into my mind and the stone of worry lodges itself in my stomach again.


	3. Chapter 3

The bar is down on Michigan Avenue, across from Millennium Park. I can see the bean twinkling in the moonlight through the trees and the security guards keeping people away from it. The bar itself is unassuming looking, your typical yuppie downtown bar with a charcoal stone exterior and dark shiny wood interior.

The cab ride had been awkward, with me having nothing intelligent to say as I worried myself to death about not saying anything stupid. Dean tried to start a conversation a few times but gave up and started texting someone instead. It's strange how we always talk so easily now at lunch during the week but I was scared this would happen, that we would run out of things to talk about because I don't do anything interesting enough to discuss with anyone else.

When we get inside the bar I see a few familiar faces, mostly people from sales and advertising like Ellen's daughter Jo, who is a pretty blond and clearly uninterested in either myself or Dean. The rest of them I recognize from passing them in the hall or being on the elevator with them, but I don't know their names and have never spoken to them.

Dean introduces me to Garth and Chuck, who work in IT and look like it, and Meg and Lisa, both in sales and both out of my league. Gabriel and Balthazar come in after us, and Dean makes a show of pronouncing out their full names to me with a laugh.

"You can just call me Gabe," says the shorter blond man. He seems like he's fun, with a good sense of humour and soon he's chasing Jo across the bar attempting to goad her into playing a game of strip poker with him.

Balthazar or Bill he tells me, shakes my hand warmly. I notice a British accent and so do most of the women in the general vicinity. So much for me meeting a girl tonight, I don't stand a chance with Dean and Bill here.

They all are fairly chummy with each other, clearly they hang out all the time and I just feel awkward in the group. We choose a table in the corner, and Dean slides in beside me on the bench despite Lisa offering him the chair next to her.

Chatter runs easily and we all order a drink, which soon turns into two and more for the rest of them while I nurse my first beer. I've never been much of a drinker, not a fan of the taste or the feeling of being out of control when you've had too much. Dean eyes my single beer a few times but says nothing, only nudges my shoulder once in a while to keep me a part of the group and conversation and I'm grateful.

After challenging and beating everyone else at pool, Gabe finally challenges me and I'm forced to admit I've never played before.

"Seriously? Well now is as good a time as any to learn dude!" And he starts pulling me out of my seat.

"It's ok, I'm alright, I'd rather just stay here at the table!" Ignoring me entirely he keeps pulling me towards the table and I start to panic. What if I accidentally hit someone or something?

Then I feel a hand on my lower back, and warm breath in my ear, making me shiver even though I'm not cold.

"It's ok, I'll show you how."

It's Dean, right behind me, touching me more than polite company would allow and I wonder just how much he's had to drink.

I stand awkwardly at the side of the table and watch as Gabe racks up the balls, talking at length about how to play, but I find it hard to focus, so instead I watch him as he picks up the cue, study his movements to see if I could possibly mimic them without taking out someone's eye in the process.

He shoots, and despite the amount he has drunk, he scatters the balls perfectly and even sinks two, making him whoop in joy.

"Your turn, I'll give you a moment to think it over, I need another drink." He skips off to the bar, throwing an arm around Jo in the process, pulling her along with him and she laughs and playfully shoves him away.

Alone at the table with Dean, I attempt to line up a shot, but I have no idea which balls I'm supposed to shoot at. Dean watches me for a moment, as I am fumbling around the table, accidentally knocking an empty glass on the floor before I finally line up my cue behind the white ball and aim to hit the biggest group of balls on the table, figuring its a start.

"You're stripes, what are you doing?"

His voice startles me and I look up to meet his eyes, twinkling with amusement at me. He comes around the table and suddenly his hands are on me again, on my waist at first, repositioning my body at a different angle on the ball and then he's leaning on me, his body fully against mine from behind, chest against my back, and his hands wrap around mine, which are gripping the cue with iron force, and he moves it towards a striped ball. Using my hands and arms like I'm a puppet he pulls the cue back and pushes it forward, rocketing the white ball into the striped one which sails easily into the pocket.

He doesn't move for a moment, I can feel his chest moving as he breathes, his heartbeat against my back, steady and calm, then I can feel the warm air on my cheek before he speaks, his nose brushing my ear.

"You have to get the striped balls in the pocket before he gets the solid ones in, then you sink the white one to win."

Gabe starts coming towards us again and Dean abruptly stands back up and the rush of cool air on my back from where he just was makes me shiver uncomfortably.

I realize my hands are shaking as I stand back up myself, I don't understand what just happened and my heart feels like its going to leap out of my chest. I glance over at Dean, who is now talking to a pretty girl at the next pool table over and barely paying attention to me and my mind spins in circles.

Did Dean just do that? What did it mean? Maybe it meant nothing, I'm probably making a mountain out of a molehill again.

I realize Gabe is talking to me, snapping his fingers at me across the table.

"Dude, your turn, wakey wakey!"

I tear my eyes away from Dean finally, but not before he glances at me once, his eyes dark as they hit mine and another shiver goes down my back. This doesn't feel right, I know it doesn't. But I don't know what else to do but keep playing the game for the time being, shock not allowing me to consider anything else.

I line up another shot, trying to remember where I'm supposed to aim and what the goal is but my heart is still pounding and my hands are shaking and I miss entirely.

Gabe whoops happily again and takes his own turn, sinking two of his balls effortlessly and it's not long before he's beaten me soundly at the game.

He comes over and shakes my hand in a pretend good natured way before clapping his hand on my back and laughing over my poor performance.

I glance back up at Dean, and he's staring at me, mouth pursed in annoyance but once our eyes meet he looks away.

I want to go home. The thought hits me suddenly, I want out of here, away from him, away from this bar, this isn't who I am, who was I kidding. I'm not comfortable and now I think the only friend I had is angry with me, after touching me somewhat inappropriately and I don't know what to do, I'm not cut out for this.

I head towards the bar to call a cab, and I remember that Deans car is at my house, and panic blooms in my chest. What if he wants to come with me?

I turn abruptly and head to the bathroom to try to calm down. A couple of guys glance up when I walk in, one steps away from me, worry on his face.

"You gonna yak dude? Cuz if you are, tell me so I can leave before you do."

I shake my head and hurry into a stall and lock the door. The toilet looks disgusting so I don't sit down, but lean against the wall and close my eyes.

I'm being ridiculous, I know I am. Dean was only trying to help me learn how to play the game and I'm behaving like a lunatic. He meant nothing by it. He was probably disappointed that I didn't take his advice and try harder to win, that's all.

The door to the bathroom opens, the music pounding into the smaller room for a few moments while its open.

"Cas?"

Dean, he sounds worried, shit, now he's gonna really hate me. I'm totally never getting to hang out with him and his friends again.

I unlock the door and step out, I can't stay hiding in the stall like a damn teenage girl. Maybe I'll pretend I don't feel well, clearly I look like shit if someone else thought I was going to puke.

"Hey, sorry, just wasn't feeling too well." I glance up at him and he looks worried. "Sorry I lost, I guess I'm a slow learner." Deans face softens further and he smiles a little.

"Don't worry about it, it was your first time, it takes practice."

He steps forward and my stomach clenches in reaction but he only puts his hand on my shoulder gently.

"Wanna get out of here?"

That's the best question I have heard all night, and I nod, probably a little more enthusiastically than I should but Dean just chuckles and leads me towards the door, holding it open for me.

The girls at the table look at me with worry as we get back, and I force a smile.

"Cas, you ok? You're pretty pale?" Asks Jo, who is currently sitting on Bills knee.

"Yeah, yeah, fine, just a headache." I try to nonchalantly run my hand through my hair, before remembering that's a bad idea. A quick glance in the mirror behind the table and I see the cowlick standing up again and hate my hair immediately.

"Listen, Cas and I are going to head out, see you guys on Monday, if you've recovered that is." Dean states, and Lisa playfully punches his stomach. "Have a good night guys!"

I wave at them all a little awkwardly and say good bye and we head towards the door, but are stopped by Gabe running up behind us.

"Hey, before you go, Dean watch out for Bobby, he's got a hate on for you again, what did you do this time? Insult his beard?" Gabe laughs but Deans face instantly turns dark, a little scary.

"What did he say Gabe?"

Gabe stops laughing and shrugs, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Chill out dude, he didn't say anything really, just that he's not happy with you, it's Bobby dude, the guys nuts, I wouldn't worry about it."

Dean nods tersely and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin painfully and he pulls me out the door.

"Dean, stop, you're hurting my arm."

He turns on the sidewalk and glares at me for a moment before looking down at his hand on my arm and releases it suddenly. The blood rushing back into the areas where his fingers were makes it throb slightly.

"Shit, sorry Cas, I didn't mean to hurt you, I just don't need this shit again." He turns back around again and I once again remember Bobby's face, looking at me in alarm.

"What do you mean again? Did something happen before?"

Dean lifts his hand to hail a cab, and I can see the tension in his shoulders and it feels dangerous to me, though I don't know why. But somehow, I need to know what the issue is with Bobby, or what issue Bobby might have with Dean.

"Dean.."

"Cas, just leave it." He spins around to face me, inches from my own, his eyes wide in anger and I immediately shrink under them. I've never seen Dean like this before, then again I didn't really know the guy until Monday of this week, this has all happened so fast.

A cab pulls up to the sidewalk and Dean slowly turns back to it, his eyes never leaving me, the glare boring into my own. He opens the door to the back seat and points at it.

"Get in." His voice is deep, venomous and I start to wonder just what exactly I did wrong. I do know I'm not getting in that car with him.

"Uh, no, I'll catch my own ride, thanks." I try to sound confident, like I'm not even remotely intimidated by him right now but my voice cracks and wobbles, giving away my fear and I take a step back, away from him on the sidewalk.

A couple of people spill out of the bar, bumping into me since I'm so close to the door.

"Hey buddy, find somewhere else to stand." I glance at them, tearing my eyes away from the fire coming from Dean and when I look back, he's shifted his glare to the guy who had bumped into me. The guy notices and steps towards Dean menacingly.

"Hey, buddy, you got a problem?"

Dean glowers at him, stepping forward himself. "Keep your hands off of him."

It takes me a second to realize the 'him' he's referring to is me, that he's gone from being viciously angry with me to now defending me from a harmless bump, one which was actually my fault.

"Dean, relax, it was my fault, I was standing in the way."

Dean lifts a hand and stops me from advancing.

"Cas, just get in the car."

"No, calm down, please, let's just relax here." I have zero experience in diffusing situations like these and I know I'm not doing anything to help based on the increasing tension. What's worse is I can't figure out why Dean is behaving like this. Is it because he's drunk?

The other guy finally backs away, waving his hand dismissively at Dean.

"Fuck it, you're not worth it you lunatic." He turns on his heel and starts walking towards his female companions, both of which are glaring at Dean. I think it's over and release the breath I'm holding, but suddenly Dean is moving lighting fast, shoving the guy head first into the brick wall. The girls start screaming and trying to pull him off while I stand frozen to the sidewalk. If this is what having friends entails, I'd rather be alone.

A bouncer comes flying out of the bar, almost knocking me sideways and grabs Dean around his waist and peels him off the other guy, who is now lying on his side on the sidewalk, blood pouring from his nose and forehead.

Gabe and Bill come out moments later, and help the bouncer pull Dean away, while I remain stock still. When Dean finally stops lashing out he shakes them off and stalks towards me and my stomach clenches again.

"Are you ok."

I open my mouth to talk, but no words come out, I'm so shocked I can't even think.

"Oh shit Cas I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I finally find some words.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I was standing in the way, I was in front of the door because you were yelling at me, it wasn't his fault. Why were you yelling at me?"

I hate the wobble in my voice, making me sound like a simpering idiot.

Dean stares at me, his eyes wide and full of remorse. Gabe comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder, fairly tight that I can see.

"He's just had to much to drink Cas, that's all, can you help him get home?"

Under no terms am I willing to get in that car alone with him, but I can't say that out loud or I'll look like a complete wimp. I wonder if I can just say, 'let's send him home in a cab' but then I remember his damn car is at my house.

"I... His car is at my house." I manage to squeak out.

Dean looks down at the ground sheepishly, but I can't relax.

"Would it be ok for him to crash on your couch tonight?" Gabe asks, hand still firmly in place on Deans shoulder.

My mind says no while my mouth meekly says ok.

"Good, Dean, get your fight club ass in the car." Dean nods and turns and does as instructed. I reluctantly go slide in beside him and give the driver my address while Gabe closes the door behind me, shutting me in with a guy who was a madman only moments ago.

"Cas, I'm sorry, I have some issues when I drink sometimes and I'm... Really really sorry."

He sounds almost weepy now, and I'm not sure if that isn't worse than the anger.

"Don't worry about it Dean. Listen, I'm not sure if its a good idea for you to stay at my place tonight, what with your allergy to cats and all, but we will pick up your keys and I'm sure the cab can get you home and you can pick up your car tomorrow." I'm surprised at how firm my voice is now, because I am panicking at how he's going to react to my words but when I glance at him he's nodding quietly and seems calm.

We ride in silence the rest of the way and he waits in the car while I retrieve his keys from my bowl by the door. I pay the driver more than what will probably cover the trip to Deans place, but I want to make sure Dean has no reason to get angry at anyone else.

Once I'm back inside my house I bolt the door and lean against it breathing heavily. Steve comes into the hall and sits down and stares at me questioningly, his tail sliding on the floor leisurely as though nothing is wrong.

My heart is beating out of my chest still, but I feel a little better now that he's gone.

I thought I wanted Dean Winchester as a friend, now I'm not so sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep evades me most of the night. Everytime I remember that Dean has to come pick up his car my stomach clenches and my heart picks up speed.

None of it makes any sense to me, I've never seen a human being change moods so immediately in my life, and I can't figure out what exactly he was thinking. Maybe the guy outside the bar was right and Dean is a lunatic or Gabe is right, it was just the alcohol talking.

Either way, I don't really want to spend any more time with him. It's funny how badly I've wanted to have a social life and friends and now that that is a possibility, I'm quite happy to walk away.

The sun creeps its way in through the blinds and Steve meows from the door for breakfast.

I have no idea what time Dean might show up to pick up his car, but I intend to pretend I'm not home. I already moved my car into the garage last night in preparation. I fully intend to avoid him all weekend, but I haven't figured out what to do on Monday yet. One thing I do know is that I want to talk to Bobby. My mind won't let that go, I have to know what is going on, even if it is something ridiculous. Deans entire demeanour changed last night at the mention of Bobby's name so it has to be something serious.

I slide my feet into my slippers and put my robe on over my striped pajamas and head into the kitchen. Steve rubs against my legs as I dish out his breakfast and sits happily gobbling it down while I start the coffee maker. I've always thought life as a cat would be nice, at least as my cat, he's got it pretty good here.

I slip towards the front window while the coffee drips and look to see if Deans car is still there. I know it probably is, I've been awake listening all night, but I still check. Sure enough, the long, sleek, black car is still parked out front. Anton is standing on his sidewalk staring at it, well, scowling at it more like. Rose walks by, glances at it and says hello to the old man as she heads to the bus stop to go to work.

I have to assume that Dean probably won't be by until later to get the car, if he was that drunk, he'll need to sleep it off before he goes anywhere.

I flip on the TV to one of the news stations and go to get a cup of coffee and some cereal.

"We are here this morning at the scene of a vicious murder that occurred just over two years ago and we are hearing from sources that police have reopened the case, saying that new evidence has been brought forward."

Really? There are so many unsolved murders in Chicago, how in hell would they have new evidence now?

"Police are saying that an anonymous tip has brought them back to this stretch of River Road North near Big Bend Lake, where two years ago the mutilated body of Jason Singer was found naked and covered with leaves. Police aren't saying what the tip entailed, but only that they are looking into the possibility of evidence left behind at the scene."

Singer? Why does that name ring a bell? I barely remember the case, though I remember seeing the picture of the thirty something guy all over Chicago in posters. I think he was missing for like three weeks before they found him. Weird that something would turn up now.

I hear my cell ding on the counter and anxiety runs over me. No one texts me, ever, since my Aunt refuses to get a cell phone.

 

_Message from Unknown Number:_

_"Hey, it's Dean, sorry again about last night, when's a good time to come get my car?"_

 

How in the hell did he get my cell phone number? My mind starts racing, trying to remember if I gave it to him last night or during the week at all, but nothing comes up. I would remember that, so how?

Handles trembling I type a reply:

 

_"How did you get my number? I'm going to be out most of the day, you can just pick it up whenever."_

 

I wait quietly for a reply, I see the little _Sent_ and _Delivered_ messages come up and know he's probably seen it. Then the _Typing_ one comes up and my throat tightens with worry.

 

_"I got it from Ellen, via Jo since I didn't have it. I was hoping we could talk, but it's ok, the car will be gone by tonight."_

 

I breathe out in relief, though this means avoiding him on Monday might be more difficult if he wants to talk. I send back a quick OK and put my phone down. I decide if he texts again I'll just ignore it, maybe he will think I'm too busy for him or something. I don't know.

I return to the couch to watch TV defiantly with my coffee and cereal, but my ear remains tuned to any sounds from my phone in the kitchen.

This doesn't change when I go shower and get dressed. Or when I pour a jigsaw puzzle out onto the kitchen table to pass the time. I feel like I have one ear on my phone and the other on the sound of Deans car starting out front.

In the early afternoon the car is still there and I'm still sitting at the kitchen table when all at once the hair on the back of my neck stands up and a weird tickle runs down my back. The same as I have been feeling for a while, that sense that I'm being watched. Turning my head slowly, I look out the glass back door behind me to my tiny deck with my rusty BBQ but I don't see anyone. In the living room I can see Steve curled up on the couch sound asleep. The TV is still on, but it's not like someone could be watching me from that anyway.

Sliding out of my chair slowly I step towards the back door, anxiety making my hands sweat. I look around my tiny yard, but can't see anyone or anything. Neither of my neighbours seem to be out there, though I know that Rose is at work and Anton usually watches his stories at this time of day.

I'm about to turn back around, feeling a little ridiculous when movement in the corner of my eye stops me. It almost looked like someone was skulking along the other side of the fence in Rose's yard, hunched over so they couldn't be seen.

My heart starts to pound in my chest and I look closer to see if they are still there, but the movement is gone.

Scratching the back of my neck nervously I back away from the door and close the vertical blinds. Maybe I'm being stupid, maybe it was one of Maria's boys retrieving a ball or something. But they live across the street? How in hell could they get a ball in her yard? And the mass I saw was a lot larger than a 5 year old kid.

The roar of an engine startles me, I know that engine, it's Deans car. Could Dean have been the one in the yard next door?

Breathing hard and shaking slightly I move closer to the front window to try to peer out without being seen just as he pulls away. I watch as the back end moves away from the curb and picks up speed down the street.

This is fucking weird.

There is a part of me that wants to believe it wasn't him in the yard, that I'm being ridiculous, but I've watched just enough TV to irrationally believe it was him.

No.

I'm being stupid, it wasn't Dean, I wasn't being watched, it's just a coincidence that now is when he got his car. After all, it's 3 in the afternoon, he said it would be gone by the end of the day, this is a perfectly sensible time to get it.

Well at least it's gone, it's over, I can relax now.

Yes.

Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

I spend the rest of the weekend in my house with the curtains closed. I'm sure my neighbours think I've really gone round the bend, but my paranoia knows no bounds.

Monday morning arrives far too quickly and I can't help the tightness in my gut as I back my car out of my garage and driveway. Steve watches me from the window and I feel a pang of longing to just go back inside and spend the day with him, pulling a sickie. But at the same time, I need to stop being a lunatic. No one is watching me, Dean was just too drunk Friday night, I need to calm the fuck down.

The parking lot is mostly empty when I get there, and I search for Deans car, but don't see it and breathe out.

Bobby isn't by the front door either this time, I'll have to find him later.

The office is quiet when I get off the elevator, the heating fans humming softly above me and I move as quickly and silently as I can to my desk.

Switching on my computer I start fiddling with some figures, but not really concentrating, my ear constantly on the sounds of my co workers coming into the office.

"Novak." Ellen's voice barking in my ear about makes me fall off my chair, why does she have to be such a bitch? Anger courses through me suddenly and without even thinking I bark back at her.

"What, Ellen?"

She stands up straighter and glares down at me in surprise and I immediately shrink down, muttering an apology.

"Target wants a total summary of all their orders from us for the last five years." Despite her glare, her voice is a lot softer, and she slides the papers on my desk without another word, or even stopping to fix my tie.

I turn back to my desk and put my face in my hands and breathe hard, I need to just chill out, go back to normal, before last week when Dean Winchester inserted himself in my life. I can do that, I just have to try harder.

"Hey Cas, you seen Dean anywhere?" Comes Gabe behind me. I turn and look at him in surprise. Dean's not here?

"Uh, no, he's not here yet?"

Gabe surveys the office lazily, clearly he's not that concerned.

"Nope, probably pulling a sickie, jerkoff, leaving me with all his work. Thanks anyway." He raps his knuckles on the top of the divider around my desk and walks away.

Maybe Dean is avoiding me as much as I'm avoiding him. Can't say I blame him.

I try to focus on my work for the rest of the morning, and things seem normal in the office. No one else asks me about Dean. In fact, no one else talks to me at all.

At lunch I return to my ninja routine, escaping before anyone sees me and move down the sidewalk with the usual throng of office workers on their way to lunch.

I'm about to open the door to Gino's when I see him, sitting at our usual table holding a coffee and looking out the window. He looks tired, messy and worn down. I vacillate at the door, not sure if I want to talk to him or not. Well no, that's a lie, I know I don't, but before I can turn and scuttle away he looks up and sees me, gaping at him through the door.

He smiles slightly but it doesn't reach his eyes and waves me in. He doesn't look angry at all, I guess that's good.

I open the door slowly, the chime going off above my head and Rita comes out from the back.

"Hi Castiel, what can I get you?"

My nerves taking over I'm no longer hungry.

"Um, just a coffee Rita."

"No sandwich?" She not only looks disappointed but hurt by my decision to not order food.

"Um, no sorry, just coffee... Please."

"Salad? We make nice soup, you know that."

Now it's getting weird. I can feel Dean watching this, probably laughing at this point.

"Fine soup, and a coffee. Thanks."

Rita smiles in triumph and busies herself with my order and I make the slow march over to where Dean is sitting and slide in across from him.

I fold my hands in my lap so he can't see them trembling and stare hard at the salt shaker on the table.

"Fuck, I really messed up didn't I." Dean starts. He pauses for a second and takes a deep breath. "Look Cas I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Something strikes me at that moment, why are we having a conversation like this? We were just friends, and barely that, it's not like we are a couple or married or anything.

I look up at him and his green eyes look sorrowful.

"It's fine Dean, we are colleagues, you don't have to excuse your behaviour, stuff happens, I don't have a right to tell you what to do."

His eyebrows knit together in sadness for a moment.

"Just colleagues, I sorta thought we were closer to friends."

"We barely know each other, I mean, we only just started hanging out last week, or even talking last week."

He looks slightly like I just punched him in the gut and I feel guilty. Maybe he did see me as a friend, good going Castiel, way to be a nice guy.

Rita brings my soup and coffee over and smiles at Dean as she does. There is one thing about Gino's, their soup sucks. Today it's watery minestrone with a few beans and bits of mushy pasta floating in it.

When she leaves I see Dean staring at it in disgust and I feel the need to apologize for it. I would swear I was Canadian sometimes.

"I, uh, don't normally eat the soup, she kinda berated me into it."

"Thank God for that, dear Lord what is that?" He points at a mushy Lima bean limping around the rim and I smile despite myself. This is the Dean I like, the lunchtime Dean, the guy I can joke with, well listen to him joking anyway.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry, maybe I overreacted, but I'm not really a bar guy, it was a newish thing for me."

He looks up at me relieved, his lips turning up slightly in a smile.

"Yeah, you were a little bit of a fish out of water there."

"We don't need to go into detail."

He chuckles quickly at me, but smiles warmly and holds out his hand.

"Let's shake on it and move on and forget about it."

I nod and grasp his hand, it's warm and strong, slightly rough with callouses and I wonder what work he does with them to earn those.

We both relax again and it's almost like normal, well the normal we had created the week before on lunches. He picks up my spoon and pokes at my soup, even daring to take a sip and winces as he does and we both laugh. As we walk back to the office we both buy hot dogs from a street vendor and its not until we are almost to the doors that I remember that he wasn't in in the morning.

"Hey wait, aren't you pulling a sick day today?"

Dean looks at me and laughs.

"Who told you that? No, I had something to do this morning, Ellen knew I'd be in this afternoon."

"Oh, everything ok?" He seems dark again, like the morning task was something very sad.

He glances at me again but relaxes his shoulders and smiles after a minute.

"Yeah yeah, just something I had to take care of."

Bobby is standing at the doors as we get back, glowering at Dean and blocking our entrance and once again, I'm extremely curious as to what the deal is between them.

"Dean Winchester, I want to talk to you. Now." Bobby barks at him, pointing at the ground in emphasis.

Dean throws me a look that tells me he thinks the old man is ridiculous and I relax. Maybe Gabe is right, Bobby is just nuts and I should stop worrying about it.

"Go on in Cas, I'll catch up with you later."

Bobby looks at me worried for a moment before returning his glare to Dean.

For some reason, I know I need to hear their conversation, somehow it's going to give me some answers.

The problem is, the entirety of the front of the building is glass, I can hardly be stealthy standing on the other side of a window with my ear pressed up against it.

I walk slowly to the elevator watching them carefully. They don't seem to speak for a few moments, just stare each other down, then Dean says something, looks like a question, like 'what do you want?' His demeanour is still relaxed, like he isn't bothered by the daggers Bobby is throwing at him with his eyes.

Bobby points in the door towards the stairwell and says something himself and then they are moving in the doors and towards the stairs. I take cover behind a potted plant against the wall and I know if the two of them weren't so focused on each other, they would spot me immediately. They go through the door and I slip out from behind the plant, drying my sweaty palms on my pants and start towards the door myself. As I reach it, I'm hit with panic. What if they are just on the other side? How will I explain myself?

I press my ear against the door, listening for voices and hear nothing but footsteps on the stairs, sounds like they are going down. Makes sense, Bobby's office is in the basement.

Glancing around me to make sure no one is watching, I open the door as quietly as I can and start slinking down the stairs. All my years of practice as a lunchtime ninja are paying off right now and I can't help but feel a little proud. I should become a detective. Though I hate the sight of blood, so maybe not.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and peek around the door jam leading down the hall to a bunch of rooms, most of which are just storage for parts and at the end is Bobby's office. I try to avoid the basement as much as possible, and as an accountant I rarely do have to come down here and I'm glad. The first time I had nightmares for days thanks to the rooms full of mannequin heads and arms, it's as creepy as hell.

I can see light under the door to Bobby's office and start creeping towards it. I can hear voices before I even get halfway, and it's clear Bobby is yelling, but Dean is only talking normally.

".... Don't understand how you have been getting away with this for so long..... New evidence.... They even talked to you?" Bobby is yelling.

I get close enough to hear Deans reply, which is so calm its chilling.

"I spoke to the police this morning, since you demanded they do so and like normal, they have nothing on me, you have the wrong guy Bobby, I don't know what happened to your kid."

His voice gets almost mocking near the end and I can't make sense of what they are talking about.

"YOU LIER! I know it was you! It could only have been you, you psychopath!" Bobby is full on screaming now and it makes me jump. As I do I look up at the name plate outside his door, announcing his name and title in the business, and my blood runs cold.

_Bobby Singer, Design and Development._

Singer. His last name is Singer. Same as Jason Singer.

Holy shit. Does Bobby think Dean killed Jason? Is Jason his son?

Dean starts talking again, more quietly, but full of venom.

"I had nothing to do with what happened to your kid, and you better back the fuck off or you will regret it."

I can hear Bobby breathing hard in frustration and anger.

"Back off? Back off of what? I'm not about to stand by and let you do it again, I know who you have your eyes on, and I will warn him, you can't stop me. I will have your ass in jail or dead so help me..."

My heart is pounding so hard I'm vibrating. Is Bobby talking about me? About warning me?

"You stay away from me old man, and stay away from him or you will regret it." Deans voice is so low I have a hard time hearing it, but I do and my blood runs even colder.

I hear footsteps coming towards the door and dart into an open storage room door across from me and hide amongst a bunch of torsos on stands, for once my beige trenchcoat helps me blend in with the unnatural skin tones around me.

The door opens and bangs into the wall as Dean damn near rips it from its hinges and I hear him stalking down the hall, his footsteps echoing on the walls.

I stay frozen, not sure of what to do. I know what I should do. Go into Bobby's office, get the truth, but I'm so scared of what he's going to tell me. I'm not sure I want to know. What if he's wrong? What if Dean really is innocent and didn't kill his son? But then why did Dean threaten him? I'm so confused. I feel sick.

I can hear Bobby pacing around his office. Then I hear his voice and it takes me a second to realize he's on the phone and not talking to me.

"Detective Wyatt, now please!"

We both wait in silence for the detective to pick up the other end of the phone.

"John, what the fuck is going on? How is that lunatic still walking the streets? You had him this morning."

I can hear a buzz as John talks but can't hear words, though clearly they do little to calm Bobby down.

"What do you mean you can't hold him? He did it John, sure as the sun sets in the west, Dean Winchester killed my son! He was stalking him for weeks beforehand and what he did to him in those two weeks before he killed him..." Bobby breaks off and I hear a choked sob.

Stalking his son.

Stalking involves following someone, showing up at their house... Watching them.

Now I feel faint.

What in the hell happened in those two weeks before Jason died?

I hear Bobby's chair creak as he sits down in defeat. Clearly the detective had nothing to go on besides Bobbys word that it was Dean.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I know immediately who it is. He's probably wondering where I am.

I know I need to talk to Bobby, but I don't want to make Dean suspicious either. I'll have to find a way down here this afternoon.

The thought of seeing Dean again makes me terrified. But at the same time, I can't help but force myself to be dubious that Bobby has the right guy, surely there would have been some evidence linking him to the crime.

I'm so confused.

As quiet as I can, I slink out if the storage room and down the hall and up the stairs.

I try to move across the office floor unnoticed, but Dean is standing at my cubicle, staring me down in suspicion, exactly what I didn't want. My heart jumps in fear as I get closer and I have to struggle to try to stay as normal as possible.

"Where were you? You came up here before me?"

"Um." I clear my throat, my mouth is so dry I can barely talk. "I forgot... I... Had to get a... Birthday card for my Aunt." I'm shaking.

Deans eyes narrow in suspicion and I swallow hard.

"Where is it?"

Fuck. Fucking flimsy excuse.

"I..." Think Castiel, think. Dean moves closer to me, staring at me hard and I feel faint again.

"I left it in my car, so I wouldn't forget it at my desk."

He has to see how scared of him I am, he has to.

He stares at me a moment longer but then backs up and nods and walks away without another word. I'm left shaking in the aisle.


	6. Chapter 6

An hour later and I'm still shaking. We have a meeting this afternoon, which includes all of the accounts department, meaning Dean and I will have to both be there unless I can find a way to get out of it.

"You ok Novak?" Ellen's voice comes beside me, and I glance up to see her looking at me worried, which is a change from her usual disdainful glare.

My mind works quickly, if I feign sick, maybe I can get out of the meeting and go talk to Bobby.

"Uh, not great, think something I ate is disagreeing with me, would it be ok if I just finish this Target file and go home?"

I must look like a mess because she nods quickly and rubs my shoulder.

"Yeah no problem honey, if you don't feel up to finishing the file, it can be taken care of tomorrow or later in the week."

Her face is full of genuine concern and it makes me feel guilty for lying, though in truth I really do feel like I'm gonna puke.

I decide to wait until everyone goes into the meeting before making my exit, that way Dean will be tied up and won't be able to follow me.

In the meantime I turn to my computer and pull up Google on Firefox and type 'Jason Singer' into the little search window. Instantly a ton of pages come up, some new and some old. I move my mouse over to the newest one, a news report from this weekend, no doubt written because the police are back to looking into the case.

 

_Chicago Police re-investigate crime scene of cold case_

_Detectives were back on the scene today at the edge of Big Bend Lake where two years ago the body of 32 year old Jason Singer was found nude and mutilated. Investigations at the time were unable to turn up any useful evidence but an anonymous tip last weekend has put new life into what had turned into another cold case in a long series in Chicago._

 

Well that's what I already learned on the news. I reverse back to my search results and look for something from two years ago. Another newspaper article, this one including a photo of Jason catches my eye and I click on it. Jason is a lot like me, I think, sorta generic with brown hair and a mousy sort of air.

 

_Body of Missing Chicago Man turns up near Big Bend Lake_

_The three week long search for Jason Singer, 32, has come to a grizzly end today as a hiker found his body early this morning near the Lake off River Road North. Police aren't saying much other than it appears he has been dead for a week and they are still investigating the cause of death._

_The hiker revealed that the body was nude, covered in strange cuts and marks and it appeared that he had been left deliberately out in the open._

_The discovery still leaves many unanswered questions and police are saying they will be interviewing any potential witnesses who have been in the area in the last week. They are not saying where they believe Jason was kept for the first two weeks he was missing, or whether he was murdered elsewhere and left by the lake or not._

_Bobby Singer, 57, Jason's father was distraught to hear the news of his sons body being found and refused to speak to reporters today. Jason is an only child, his mother having died in childbirth and his death leaves his father alone in the city._

 

My throat closing in agony for Bobby I quickly reverse again and look through more results. I find one that is dated three weeks after Jason was found.

 

_Autopsy results in Jason Singer case confirm man was stabbed, sexually assaulted prior to death_

_A police report released today confirms what has been rumoured for weeks since Jason Singer's body was found near Big Bend Lake by a hiker. The 32 year old IT technician at Plastics Incorporated was brutally sexually assaulted in the two weeks before finally being stabbed to death and dumped._

_"In all my years as a detective, I've never seen anything like it," says Detective John Wyatt with the Chicago PD. "Whoever did this was sadistic, that's for sure."_

_Police are not commenting on reports that Jason had been being stalked for weeks prior to his disappearance, nor are they answering questions regarding Jason's fathers claims that co-worker Dean Winchester, 34, is the one responsible._

_The elder Singer, 57, released a tirade against police for not doing their jobs and arresting Winchester, who has repeatedly denied any involvement with the victim, but police are only saying they are investigating multiple leads and suspects._

_"Dean Winchester is a psycho, he has been watching my son outside his house for weeks, he forced him into being his friend, and he tried to cut him off from even talking to me," read Singer's letter to news outlets._

_Other employees at Plastics Incorporated, a mannequin manufacturing firm based out of Chicago, say they remember Dean and Jason hanging out together a few times as friends, but didn't see any suspicious activity._

_"They came to the bar together a few times," said Gabriel Loking, who worked with Jason in IT. "They seemed like they were friends, Jason never said anything to me about problems with Dean or anyone."_

_In fact, it appears the only person Jason ever told about the stalking was his father, who regrets now not telling his son to go to police earlier._

_"He could still be alive today," writes Singer. "If I had taken what he was saying seriously, I could have saved him."_

 

My stomach is roiling as I read, I can't even finish the article. Jumping out of my chair I quickly cross the office to the men's room and lean over the toilet, the hot dog I had bought and eaten with Dean congenially when I had forgiven him making a sudden violent reappearance.

My stomach heaves until it's empty and I slump down onto my knees on the floor coughing as my throat burns from the acid.

"Uh... You ok?" I hear the question behind me and my body goes cold in fear that it's Dean. I turn my head slowly, heart pounding in my ears. Gabriel looks down on me, worry knitting his forehead together and I almost start crying in relief.

"Not really," I manage to squeeze out through my sore and tightened throat.

"Yes, I guess I can see that. Here, need a hand getting up?"

I look at his offered hand for a moment, trying to decide if I can trust him or not. He worked with Jason, how did he not know something was wrong? He hangs out with Dean, knows what he can be like when he drinks? Is he blind or stupid? Or maybe I'm the insane one.

His hand wobbles a little as he sees me staring at him with suspicion, and I feel guilty. Reaching out my own cold, clammy one I slowly stand up, head spinning slightly as I do. I flush the toilet as soon as he lets go and follow him out into the open area of bathroom. He stands beside me as I rinse my mouth and starts walking with me back to my desk. I can see people heading towards the meeting room, and just before we turn towards my desk I see Dean, standing in my cubicle, glaring at my computer screen.

I realize in cold horror that I left the article open, and he can clearly see that.

I turn suddenly, almost knocking Gabe down and start towards the stairs. I can hear Gabe saying my name, but he doesn't follow me. I just hope Dean didn't see me. I dive through the door to the stairs and run up two flights before hiding myself from view.

Breathing hard I wait and listen for any sound that anyone followed me, but hear nothing.

I don't know what to do, my lungs burn as they fight for air as I pant in panic. I need to get back to my desk, I need my keys, but I'm terrified Dean will still be there, around, waiting for me. But if he has gone to the meeting, I don't have long to go get what I need and get down to Bobby's office.

I don't know when exactly I determined without a doubt that Dean is guilty of killing Jason, but my gut is telling me that that is the truth. Dean befriended Jason suddenly too, took him to the bar, watched him. My mind drifts back to Saturday, when I saw someone in Rose's yard, felt someone watching me and seeing the figure behind the fence. It was Dean, I know it was, the coincidence of me seeing that and him picking up his car at about the same time is too much.

After twenty minutes my legs start to ache from crouching beside the stairs. I stand slowly and move down as quietly as I can. When I get to my floor my hands are shaking so bad I don't even know if I can turn the handle, or if I want to.

I crack the door open a hair, and peek out, listening hard for any movement. I see no one in the near vicinity, but from this vantage point I can't see my own desk.

Heart pounding, I slip through the door and press my body against the wall and move past the bathroom and towards the main open area where all the cubicles are. Before I turn the corner I listen. I can hear Ellen's voice coming from the meeting room, can see the door open a crack at the other end of the room. This is a problem, if anyone is near the door, they might see me.

"Shit." I mutter under my breath. Floundering for a moment I wonder if I can make it crawling. It's not a great idea, it'll make it harder to run if I need to, but I can avoid being seen.

I slide down to my hands and knees and start scurrying down the aisles between cubicles, the carpet burning my palms and knees through my pants, I start cursing again under my breath that my desk is so close to the meeting room.

Once I reach it, I slide on the plastic chair mat up to the edge and put my hand up, patting around for my keys. It takes a few tries but I find them and then promptly drop them on the ground in a great clatter of noise.

Where the hell has my ninja ability gone? I am better than this and dammit I need to be right now. I wait for a moment to hear if anyone is coming to check, but I don't hear any footsteps, just Ellen's voice still droning on. I can only hope she drowned out the noise.

I grab my trenchcoat that is draped on the back of my chair and start pulling it off. I can only imagine if someone were to look at my desk right now they would see my chair dancing around and the coat slowly disappearing.

Once I have it, I shrug it on and put my keys in my pocket and start crawling back to the elevators.

I just hope Bobby is still here after all of this.

Waiting for the ding announcing the arrival of an elevator to take me down is like waiting for a rescue boat when stranded in the middle of an ocean. I perpetual complain, mostly to myself, about how slow they are, but today it's like they aren't even working. I stand bouncing on the balls of my feet, pent up energy ready to explode when I hear what sounds like footsteps coming my way.

I feel like I can't even breathe, they sound like Deans heavy thumps, the way he walks with swagger like he owns the place.

The elevator dings in front of me and I dive through the door before it's even fully open and start jamming my thumb into the door close button as hard as I can. The elevator buzzes in complaint and I slam the lobby and door close buttons at the same time repeatedly.

My heart feels like it's going to explode and I can hear the footsteps getting closer.

The door starts to slide shut slowly finally, but not before he rounds the corner and we lock eyes and the expression on his face makes me feel faint. The ferocity of his anger makes my legs shake and I can only stand there and pray to some deity that he doesn't push the button outside the elevator before I start going down.

If I had any doubts before, they are all gone now.

Dean Winchester wants to kill me.

 

* * *

 

Shaking and cold, I hurry towards the basement stairs once I reach the lobby. I have to wipe a few tears from under my eyes as I do. How did this happen? I'm nobody, why would he want to hurt me? Why did he pick me? I don't want to die, I don't want him to hurt me!

The light is still on in Bobby's office when I reach the hall and I'm damn near running now. I'm not sure what he can tell me that I don't already know at this point, but at least I know he will believe me and maybe he can help me.

He's sitting at his desk, shoulders slumped in his dark green plaid flannel shirt and green baseball cap pulled down low. His desk is a mess, covered in various papers and files, with more tacked onto the cork boards around the room. The desk itself is old, wooden with creaky filing cabinets holding it up, one drawer looks broken, rusted and hanging at a cock eyed angle.

He doesn't seem to notice me there, despite how much noise I'm sure I made coming down the hall, and my current sniffling, panting state at his door.

I realize he's staring at a picture on his desk, lost entirely in thought. It appears to be a picture of him, when he was younger with a boy, probably around 14 or 15 years old. Jason I assume.

"Bobby?" I manage to choke out, it's taking all of my strength to remain standing, my knees shake and knock together. I'm not built for this kind of thing, I'm not a thrill seeker or adrenaline junky and it doesn't take much to shake me up, and this is beyond anything that I could think of handling.

The older man jumps at my voice, spinning to the side in his chair and his eyes sweep over me, taking in my state of evident distress.

He stands quickly and comes towards me, pulling me into the office before looking down the hall and closing the door and turning back to face me.

"You've figured it out, what he is, what he's doing." He states almost matter of factly. I can only nod.

"I was going to warn you, but I'm glad you know already."

His face is genuine, I know that he doesn't think I'm nuts, how could he.

"Help me." I manage to squeak out. I'm so lost, I don't even know what to do next.

He steps forward quickly and pulls me into a gruff hug, an attempt at calming and soothing me I assume.

"It's ok kid, I'm going to help you, he's not going to get you while I'm around."

He releases me from the hug, but keeps his hands on my shoulders. They are warm, heavy, full of safety and for the first time in my life, I miss my father. The shock of that feeling brings fresh tears to my eyes.

"Listen, Castiel, do you have any where you can go? Since I'm guessing he already knows where you live."

Shock ripples through me at that statement, but at the same time I realize, of course, he's already seen every step Dean makes, watched it happen with his son. My mind scrambles as I try to think of a place to go, but the only family I have is Aunt Shelly, in Milwaukee, is that far enough away?

"I... My Aunt in Milwaukee, she's all I have."

He nods.

"That's good, out of the city, lets get you home, pack up some stuff and get the hell out of here."

I nod back and follow him as he opens the door slowly, again peering down the hall. Instead of turning right and heading towards the stairs, he ducks left.

"I know another way out, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't know it."

He leads me through a heavy steel door into a room that smells strongly of plastic and chemicals, it makes my eyes water and my nose burn to breathe it in. All around us are various tools and pieces of robotic machinery and workmen building mannequins. I knew manufacturing took place on site, but had never seen it for the same reason I avoided the storage rooms. A man in blue overalls and black rubber gloves glances at me as we pass. He's holding a head, it's blank unpainted face and bald head sends a shiver down my spine and I pick up speed. At the opposite end of the long room sits two sets of large cargo doors. One of them is open, a truck parked outside it being loaded with mannequins covered in plastic on stands, they almost look like standing human corpses in body bags and I want out of this room so badly it hurts.

Bobby leads me straight towards the open door and jumps down from the loading dock, I follow him, twisting my ankle slightly but he's already walking away before I have a chance to register the pain.

We head towards the parking lot, eyes constantly skimming around looking for any signs of Dean and I notice his car isn't in the lot. Fear trickles down my spine again, where is he? What if he's waiting at my house for me to arrive?

"Bobby, his car is gone."

"Yeah I see that," he stops abruptly. "You can't go home. He'll be there waiting. You gotta leave for Milwaukee now son."

"My cat, I can't leave him."

Bobby stares at me quietly for a moment, I know what the look means. More tears spring to my eyes.

"Look, assuming he hasn't done anything yet, I just can't let you go back there." Seeing the tear slide down my cheek his expression softens. "Let's get you on the highway and I'll go see if I can get the cat, ok?"

I nod.

"His name is Steve."

"Uh huh, look, you got a number I can reach you at that's safe?"

I think for a moment, Dean knows my cell phone number, that's not safe.

"He has my cell number, but I can give you my Aunts number."

I fish my cell out of my pocket and start scrolling through my contacts to get her number. He takes my phone out of my hands suddenly, puts her number in his and then proceeds to throw it on the ground, smashing it into pieces.

"Bobby, what?!"

"He's got your number, and sure as shit he's got you wired for GPS too, you can't use that one anymore, lets go get you a new one."

He turns abruptly and stalks across the parking lot to an old Chevelle parked at the back. I run over to my own car and pull up behind him, figuring he's going to lead.

We turn north on Skokie and head towards the 94 which will take me to my Aunts house and safety. Just before we get to the highway, Bobby veers into a small shopping centre that contains a electronics store.

He gets out of his car and I follow him, the door chiming as we go in and the lone sales person looks up from his comic book on the counter. Bobby ignores him entirely and heads towards a display of disposable phones, grabbing one at random and a $50 card for minutes and then he heads to the counter.

I follow him dumbly and when the sales person reads the total I just get my credit card out and almost hand it over before Bobby snatches my hand back and throws me a look. He opens his own wallet and pulls out cash and hands it over and I realize why I can't use my card, it's a paper trail. I never had stopped to think just how much stalking Dean would do, I sorta just assumed it was the peering in the windows and following stuff, but apparently it's far more sophisticated than I could have imagined.

Once we are back outside, I have to ask.

"If he is keeping these kinds of tabs on me, following my GPS, looking at my credit card purchases, how have the police not got him yet? Wouldn't his hacking lead back to him somehow?"

Bobby glances up from where he has the new phone on the hood of his car, activating it.

"He's really good at covering his ass, it took me damn near two years to figure it out and by the time I got the info to the cops, he'd buried it deeper."

"The anonymous tip, that was you?"

"Yeah, crapload of good that did."

"But, they were searching by the lake?"

"They were looking for Jason's Bluetooth, I figured out that Dean had installed a tracker in the device and since Jason never went anywhere without it, it was the perfect way to watch him."

"I'm guessing they didn't find it."

He sighs deeply, shoulders sagging.

"No, but I mean, it's two years later. I didn't think they would."

I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the full weight of his loss, his determination to get justice for his only son.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, for what happened to Jason."

He glances at me and nods quickly.

"Lets just make sure it doesn't happen to you."

I can't help but agree with that. Once he's finished with the phone, he hands it to me. I give him my home address and my key so he can hopefully rescue Steve and then he leads me to the onramp for the I-94 and I start the drive to Milwaukee. I haven't worked out in my head yet what I'm going to tell my Aunt in regards to what is happening and why I'm suddenly at her house.

I'll figure it out while I'm driving I guess.


	7. Chapter 7

The tension in my shoulders decreases the further I get from Chicago. I haven't heard from Bobby yet, but he said he probably wouldn't contact me unless necessary, just in case Dean is watching his phone as well.

It's dusk when I get to Milwaukee and the streets leading to my Aunts house are familiar to drive down. As eccentric as she is, my Aunt wanted to live somewhere with what she refers to as 'living history', which I never understood other than equating it to her living in an old Victorian in the Historic Concordia Neighbourhood. All of the houses on West State Street near hers look like oversized doll houses, covered in gingerbread details and bright vibrant colours, though in the light of day it's clear some of them need some work still.

Her house is one of those. 2735 is a big two storey Victorian with yellow painted wooden siding and fuchsia stairs leading up to the old oak door. I had tried to take care of it when I lived here, touching up paint and reaffixing shutters beside the windows, but since I moved out she has let it go, always claiming to be too busy for mundane household tasks.

Inside the house is probably the same as I always remember it. Every room painted a different bright colour like azure blue or kelly green, all of the furniture is as old as the house, right down to the iron beds. The stained glass in the front window is original, as are the floors and wooden embellishments throughout the house. The piles of books lined on every wall could also be considered original, since they've been there as long as I've been alive.

I knock on the door and wait. The front porch light is on, so I assume she's home.

A few moments later she comes down the hall, I can hear her heels on the hardwood and she swings the door open wide, already smiling at whoever it might be on the other side, completely trusting that it will always be someone she is happy to see. She's wearing one of her usual brightly coloured and patterned flowing dresses, her brunette hair that is streaked with grey hangs down to her elbows and a leather band with a few leather flowers is wrapped around her head. She resembles a flower child who hasn't realized the 60s and 70s are long over. If it weren't for the grey streaks and the crows feet around her eyes, she would almost look the same as she did in that past era. She is a beautiful woman, my Aunt, something I heard often from the one or two friends I had while in high school. All of which only befriended me in hopes of scoring pot from her.

Her grin widens when she's sees it's me, and despite our differences I can see the love in her eyes as she looks at me, and in her odd way she doesn't seem surprised either. Not that she was expecting me, but she never seems surprised when anyone visits.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to not start sobbing when I see her.

She catches my mood instantly and comes at me quickly, pulling me into an embrace. She's a good foot shorter than me, so my chin rests on the top of her head, but I accept it gratefully anyway, a few tears spilling over and down into her hair.

"Castiel, darling, what's wrong?"

I hear voices deeper in the house and realize she's not alone, it sounds like several people and immediately I feel guilty at disturbing her evening.

I sniffle loudly, run my sleeve over my eyes and let her go.

"It's nothing, it's fine, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing anything, I was just hoping I could stay here tonight, if that's ok."

She places her warm hands on my face, using her thumb to swipe away an errant tear and smiles warmly at me.

"Of course honey, come on in, do you have a bag of stuff?"

I step into the front hall, the scent of patchouli immediately tickling my nose.

"Um, no, I had to leave in a hurry."

Alarm crosses her face as I say this and I instantly regret it. In my drive here I had decided to tell her as little as possible, partly to not frighten her and partly because I wasn't sure she'd believe me anyway. But now, as I look into her pale blue eyes, so much like my own, and full of such trust and love, I realize that she might be more on my side than I thought. I'm caught between being a 15-year-old kid in need of the comfort of a loved one and not wanting to scare her.

I hear the laughter again, it sounds like it's coming from the kitchen.

I force a smile.

"Not now, I'll tell you later, you should get back to your guests."

She nods and visibly relaxes and loops her arm through mine, pulling me along with her.

When we reach the coral coloured kitchen, six sets of eyes look up at me, all of them lined with crows feet and every body clad in some form of a hippie uniform. A hookah sits in the middle of the table, and a sickly sweet smell reaches my nose.

"Everyone, this is my nephew Castiel, he's come for a visit, isn't that great!"

Every eye runs down and back up my staid black suit and tie and beige trenchcoat and its clear I don't fit in with this crowd.

"Castiel, this is Jack, Grace, Faith, Flower, Humphrey and Leonard."

All six heads nod in my direction in greeting, though Flower keeps nodding and I wonder what in hell they have in that hookah. Then I spot the joint burning in an ashtray in front of her.

My Aunt turns back it me.

"We are trying to get into character, we are doing an art installation theatre production on Woodstock, you should try to come see it, since you've never made it to any of my other performances."

I wince a little at this, she's not wrong, I have been getting increasingly creative with my excuses as to why I can't make it to see her. Like when she played Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire (I told her I had a root canal booked), or to see her play the lead role in the stage production of Black Swan (Steve needed root canal). I always knew she saw right through it, but now I actually really do feel guilty. Safe to say having a murderer after me is a damn good excuse though.

I nod at her and smile, just to get us past the moment.

"Would you care to join us? It's mango!" She holds out a lead to the hookah and I back up a step.

"Um, no thank you, I'm actually just going to make a cup of tea if that's ok, I won't disturb your brainstorming, I'm sure it's imperative in order to get everything just right."

She pulls me into a one armed hug.

"Ok honey, we'll talk later."

She sits back down with her friends and immediately they all start giggling at something. I pull a mug down from the cupboard and put the kettle on and hang my trenchcoat on a hook by the back door. I loosen my tie a few seconds later and add it on top of the hook.

I find a box of chamomile tea and add the boiling water and head off to the living room.

Just as soon as I'm outside the door I hear someone, I think it's Flower, say in hushed tones that I look like I just saw a ghost. She's probably not wrong, I'm sure I look like shit.

My aunt doesn't believe in TV, so has never owned one. As a teenager growing up in this house, it drove me insane. I sit down on the old Victorian settee and idly pick up a book from the stack beside me. It's a book of poetry. Not what I want to read. I put it back down.

Sipping my tea slowly I keep an eye out the front window, but I am more relaxed than I was. I desperately want to call Bobby, but I know it's not a safe idea. I notice in the corner of the room my Aunt has gotten a new computer. This is a shock to my system. For a woman who tends to shun technology more than most Amish people, this is quite the surprise.

I get up and sit down at the desk in front of it. She doesn't have much, but she does have the Internet and solitaire, that's good enough to kill some time.

I sit playing game after game of solitaire and spider two suits. At one point, about 100 games in, I start to wonder what exactly my next move is going to be. Not in the game, but in my situation. Sure, I've got Bobby on my side now, and I have a place to stay tonight, but what about tomorrow? Should I call Ellen now and tell her I won't be in to work?

I sigh loudly in frustration with myself at that thought.

Fucking sakes Cas, you have a maniacal killer on your ass and you're worried about counting sick days.

But really, what's next. Should I call the police? What evidence do I have that he's planning to do anything to me? Seriously? Somehow I doubt they are going to go on my gut instinct and Bobby's ranting alone, seeing as his letters and persistence hasn't done much in the case of his own son, it's doubtful they will listen to him now.

In truth, I have nothing. I don't know if it was him or not in Rose's backyard, I have no real proof of that other than him suddenly driving his car away only seconds after I thought I saw a figure leaving her yard. Yeah, he knew where I live, but I'm in the phone book.

And him glaring at me doesn't count as evidence; despite any belief I may have to the contrary. And as someone who has mastered the art of glaring in my lifetime, safe to say I'd be locked up by now if it were considered a crime.

An uneasy feeling crawls through my stomach. I'm so certain that I'm right, that Bobby is right, but without evidence to back it up, something to take to the cops to get Dean off the streets, I'm screwed. I can't do anything but hide out at my Aunts, and that is certainly not a long-term solution.

I hear chairs scraping the floor in the kitchen and the sound of voices drawing closer to the front door. Evidently their rehearsal meeting is over. I still don't know exactly what I'm going to tell my Aunt, and she will be asking questions.

"Goodnight Castiel, good to meet you." Flowers voice hits me from behind and so lost in thought as I am, I damn near fall out of the chair in surprise.

"Oh sorry dear, didn't mean to startle." She turns and sways out of the room, humming some nondescript out of tune song and I sit worried for a brief moment that I actually peed myself.

The front door closes and I decide I need to tell Shelly the truth, all of it. If she doesn't believe me, well that sucks, but maybe she will and maybe she will have some idea of what in hell I should do.

"Castiel?" She calls me from the front hall.

"I'm in here, at your computer."

She comes into the room, still smiling, her headband a little askew from the goodbye hugs she just received in the front hall and for a split second I'm envious of her ability to just go with the flow, be happy about everything but my neurosis quickly quashes the feeling.

"Listen, Aunt Shelly, I have something I have to tell you‚" I start gravely, hoping she will understand how important this is, but before I can continue she cuts me off.

"Oh dear, I forgot to tell you, a friend of yours called, just a moment I'll get the message from the kitchen." And she's off again, my moment of gravity gone but I don't care. I'm assuming it's Bobby who called, maybe he's got Steve and they are both ok and somewhere safe.

I hear her rustling around in the kitchen, nattering on about how she knows she left it around the room somewhere and my impatience takes over and I head to the kitchen myself.

"Oh here it is," she brandishes a piece of torn newspaper at me; clearly it was the closest thing at hand when she took the message. "Yes, your friend from the other night, Dean, he called wondering if you had arrived safely?"

My body goes cold immediately. He found my Aunt, which means he knows where I am. For a few seconds I can't even breathe. Not only am I not safe, but neither is she now.

"Castiel? Darling, you're white as a sheet, what's wrong love." She drops the paper on the table and comes towards me quickly, face full of alarm and hands at the ready to steady me, even though if I went down, I'd probably just crush her she's so tiny.

On wobbly legs I force myself to move and sit down at the table.

"You're shaking, Castiel, please, what's wrong?"

"He's... Dean.. He's stalking me, he's a murderer, I didn't think he would find me here."

Her face goes from alarm to confused, and ever so slightly suspicious, clearly she thinks I've lost my mind.

"Castiel, honey, what do you mean he's stalking you? That he's a murderer? He seemed nice enough on the phone."

My stomach does a flip at the thought of her talking to him, of him convincing her that he's a nice normal guy.

"Aunt Shelly, you don't understand, a lot has happened, he has been watching me."

"Watching you? How? Have you seen him?"

"Yes... well no, I just, I saw someone in the backyard next door, and only a minute later his car started out front and he drove off, and I've had the feeling of someone watching me for a few weeks now."

Her face now completely dubious, I know she thinks I've finally cracked and lost it.

"Please, Aunt Shelly, I'm not lying, this isn't the first time he's done this."

Her eyebrows go up a little. "It's not? What do you mean by that?"

"This guy, Jason Singer, he worked at the same company as me in IT, and Dean befriended him suddenly, like he did with me, and Jason figured out that Dean was stalking him, but he only told Bobby, his father, because he wasn't sure if anyone would take him seriously, and Jason was kidnapped and murdered."

"And you think it was Dean who killed him? What do the police think about all this?"

"The police can't find enough evidence to arrest him, but Bobby did find it, he told them, just last week, but they were too slow investigating it and now he's covered his tracks again, but he was monitoring Jason electronically, through his Bluetooth, cell phone, even credit card purchases."

"I see..." She trails off.

"I never gave him your phone number. He found it on his own, he found out where I live on his own, and my cell phone number."

Her eyebrows shoot up at this, but then she reconsiders.

"Well, I'm not in the phone book, but I mean, it's so easy nowadays to find someones number and he seemed genuinely concerned about you making it here safely, he seems normal Castiel, I think maybe this Bobby is confused and it has confused you as well."

All belief that she would side with me, agree that something is wrong and help me is gone. I can hear my own words, know how nuts they sound, but I also know that I'm not wrong but I have no idea how to convince her.

"Listen honey, I think you've been working too hard, maybe you just need a little break. Why don't you head on up to bed, get a good nights rest and we'll see how you feel in the morning."

I know there is no point in arguing with her now. My stomach feels heavy like lead. He knows where I am, could come try and get me at any point, but where can I go?

I wait until she goes up to her own bedroom before I skulk around the house, checking all the locks on the windows and doors and then retreat to my old bedroom.

I was a teenager in this room, but you wouldn't know it. There are no posters on the walls, or trophies or ribbons. There are just a few books on a shelf, a tidy desk and a neatly made bed. The walls are still chocolate brown, the floor still the same wood.

I take my suit jacket off and hang it on the back of the desk chair and slip my shoes off and put them beside the bed.

I pull out the new cell phone and try Bobby again. I have been calling him repeatedly since my conversation with my Aunt ended, since Dean already knows where I am, there's no point in hiding it now. But he hasn't been answering and I feel sick with worry.

I debate on pushing the bureau in front of the door, as added insurance but change my mind. If I need to run, I need a clear path and what if he hurts Shelly? I can't just leave her unprotected while I hide in my room.

This is going to be a long night.


	8. Chapter 8

Tapping on the window wakes me with a start. I don't know when I fell asleep, hell I don't even remember lying down, but I am, body bunched up on the twin sized bed.

Light is coming through the window, so it's morning, and I can see rain trickling down the glass, clearly the source of the tapping sound.

My brain had felt it necessary to torment me all night with dreams of the types of torture that Dean would inflict on me if he kidnapped me. They ran the gamut from Chinese water torture to my personal favourite and what was the scene in my head just before I woke up, Dean carving my skin from my bones.

I really need to stop watching slasher movies.

I can hear my aunt downstairs humming as she moves about the kitchen, making breakfast and I grab the cell phone beside me and check for any missed calls or messages, but there's nothing.

I decide not to call work, yesterday's debacle should be enough to cover me for today, and Ellen basically gave me the green light to take today off anyway.

I wonder if Dean will show up, or where he is right now.

Horror crawling under my skin, I realize he could be close, possible watching this house right now and here I lie in bed like its nothing.

Swinging my legs over the side, I stand up in a crouch and sidle over to the window, attempting to remain unseen from the outside. The street looks normal, no suspicious oversized black cars anywhere, just the mailman in his rain coat hurrying down the sidewalk.

"Castiel, love, what are you doing?"

My aunts voice jolts me and I turn so suddenly I go sideways into the desk, slamming my leg into the edge and a shot of pain runs up my body.

"Ow, geez Aunt Shelly, you could have knocked." Rubbing the painful spot on my leg I give her a reproachful look. Then I notice the tray in her hand bearing a cup of tea and bacon and eggs and I feel guilty.

"I thought I would surprise you with breakfast in bed, but instead I find you spying on my neighbours, you can get arrested for that you know." She throws me a sidelong glance of reproach herself and slides the tray onto the desk beside me.

"I wasn't spying on your neighbours, I was making sure he wasn't out there."

"He?" She looks at me confused. "Oh, that Dean fellow, are you still convinced he's stalking you? Oh Castiel honey, please listen to yourself, you know you've got this wrong, you must." She pleads with me and a part of me wants to agree, to shake it off and pretend I just had a crazy moment and nothing is wrong. Escaping into that innocent oblivion is tempting, it would be less stressful, but I can't, the feeling in my gut and what I know just won't go away.

Clearly, I'm not going to convince her however, at least not yet, so I nod and force a smile as though I'm forgetting about it and she visible relaxes.

"Eat your breakfast, and since you're here, I thought maybe you could drive me to the store today, I need some groceries and it would be so much easier not to have to carry them on the bus."

I nod again, though feel uneasy about leaving the house. Also, the only clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing.

My aunt smiles at me again and leaves, and I sit down at the desk, and start picking at the food. One thing I'm not is hungry, my stomach is in too many knots.

After about ten minutes I give up and decide to go take a shower.

The hot water loosens some of my muscles and I can see a bruise forming on my leg, just below my hip, where I hit the desk. As soon as I'm out of the water, my anxiety at leaving the house reclaims me and grows. I hunt around my old room for any of my old clothes that still fit, but come up empty. Putting back on my suit from the day before feels gross, but it's the only option I have.

I wait until I hear my aunt get in the shower herself before I take the tray down to the kitchen, I don't want her to see that I didn't eat much, it'll just make her worried again.

While I wait for her, I try calling Bobby, and he still isn't picking up. I decide to use a different tactic and send him a text message and then sit staring at my phone, waiting for a response.

Nothing.

Drumming my fingers on the table in nerves, I decide to call him at work, he has his own extension, maybe he's busy, that's why he's not answering. Though that would suck, he knows I'm probably losing my mind over here in worry, designing a new mannequin can't be more important than checking in with me.

The computerized voice picks up, instructing me to enter the first four digits of the last name of the person I'm trying to reach. A pang goes through my heart when I realize that there used to be two Singers in the building, but now there's only one.

_If you are trying to reach Bobby Singer, press 1_

I jab my finger into the 1 button and wait.

It rings, and rings some more until his voicemail picks up.

_You've reached the desk of.. Bobby Singer.. If you would like to leave a message, please press 1, to return to the main menu, press 3, to speak with an operator, please press 0_

I debate for a few seconds and then hit 0, at least the operator might know if he's at the office.

"Plastics Incorporated, this is Tawny speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"Hi, I'm looking for Bobby Singer, is he in today?" I realize a few seconds too late that I'm supposed to be sick today, I hope she doesn't recognize my voice.

"Mr. Singer has not come in yet, would you like his voicemail?"

No, you idiot, I just had it. I then decide to throw caution to the wind, since clearly she has no idea who I am.

"No, that's ok, could I speak with Dean Winchester in accounts instead?"

At least now I'll know if he's in Chicago right now or not. Though if he's not at work, then I have no idea where he is really, that's a scary thought.

Tawnys voice audibly changes when I mention Deans name, going from businesslike to slightly giddy, she knows who Dean is.

"Uh, no, sorry, I haven't seen him today, I can check for you."

"No, wait..." But she's already put me on hold. I debate on hanging up, but I still want to know for sure. If she puts me through to him, I'll just hang up.

"Hi, sorry, Dean has called in sick, poor thing, would you like his voicemail?"

He is hardly a poor thing, if she only knew.

"No." I snap and hang up.

Ok, this is bad. Neither Bobby or Dean is at work.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Castiel, are you ready to go?" My aunt calls from the hallway.

As badly as I want to run to the basement and hide, I realize that going out with her gives me the opportunity to do some surveillance, look and see if I spot him hanging around, maybe I can even take some pictures of him watching me, the police can't deny pictures.

I get up and grab my trenchcoat from the hook, leaving my tie behind, I don't really need it for the grocery store, it's not that fancy of a place and follow my aunt out the front door.

I have to remind her to lock it, she has a nasty habit of just leaving it, stating her neighbours are lovely people and she has nothing to worry about. Now, putting aside the whole Dean issue, I happen to know she has a drug dealer living nearby, so locking the door is a must no matter what.

She chatters at me in the car on the way to the store, telling me about the upcoming theatre piece and how Flower was only just able to join the cast, having had to have a hip replaced recently. I listen with one ear, while my eyes busily search every corner in front of me and behind for any signs of him.

The grocery store has had a makeover since I lived here. It used to be an independent business, all old and a little run down, but the prices were good and the staff friendly. It's been bought out by some big chain and been completely revamped so everything looks shiny and new, and very expensive. I follow my aunt quietly around the store as she loads things into the cart. We have a short terse conversation about whether or not vitamins are useless and then fall back into silence. My eyes can't stop scanning every face I see, every hidden corner. If she notices my behaviour, she doesn't say anything.

We load the bags into the trunk and I slip the phone out of my pocket once again to make sure I haven't missed anything and it still has zero missed calls.

My concern for Bobby has been intensifying dramatically as each minute passes. What if Dean killed him? I sent Bobby to my house where Dean was probably waiting, I sent him straight into danger and now he's probably dead because of me.

My heart pounding and hands gripping the steering wheel, I stop hearing my aunt beside me.

"Castiel? Castiel! You just ran a red light!"

Her sudden volume change grabs me and I swerve the car, damn near hitting a guy on a bike in the left hand turning lane. I can hear him yelling at me as we go by, his middle finger up in full display.

"Castiel, what in the hell is wrong with you? Do you need to see a doctor? Are you hearing voices?"

I pull the car over, put it into park and close my eyes, trying to calm my breathing.

"No, I do not need to see a doctor."

"Then what in hell is going on? Is it still this Dean business?"

Anger and fear bubbling over I turn to her.

"Yes, yes it is still this 'Dean business'" I quote with my fingers. "I'm sorry if you think I'm nuts and don't believe me, but I know I'm not wrong, I'm in danger, we both are, because he knows your phone number and most likely where you live. He's looking for me, and I know he's not at work today, because I checked, but what's worse right now is that I have been trying to reach Bobby since he helped me get out of Chicago yesterday and I can't find him, I even called his office, so I'm sorry if I'm a little on edge."

I finish my tirade and breathe hard. She stares at me wide eyed, mouth moving a few times to speak, but nothing comes out. I feel guilty for yelling at her, but the real seriousness of the situation has finally hit me hard, harder than ever.

Unable to take her stare or silence any longer I cross my arms over the top of my steering wheel and rest my forehead on them, closing my eyes.

Bobby could be dead.

He could be dead because of me. I should never have gone to him for help.

My aunts hand rests in my arm gently.

"You really are certain of this, aren't you?" She says softly.

"Yes." I mumble into my steering wheel.

"Lets just go home and we will talk about it." She adds, just as softly.

I don't know if she's coddling me, with plans to call the looney bin the moment we get home if she finally believes me. At this point, I'm not sure I care.

 

* * *

 

We unpack the car in silence, me still checking the street every chance I get but I see nothing.

The silence remains in the house as we put everything away.

She quietly puts water in the kettle and puts it on the stove, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard and the chamomile tea. I sit down at the table. I know this means she wants to talk.

Once she sets the steaming cup down in front of me, she sits down across from me and stares at me for a few moments, her face hard and unreadable.

"Look, if there is one thing I know about you, your gut instincts are always right. They've gotten me out of many a pickle in my life and I see no reason not to trust them, and you, now, but you really have to be sure, this is a serious accusation you have against this man."

I nod.

"Are you absolutely, 100% sure Castiel?"

I look her straight in the eyes, so she can see I'm not lying.

"Yes. I know he killed Jason Singer and I know he's after me. And I'm really scared right now that he has killed Bobby for trying to help me." Tears spring up in my eyes.

She reaches a hand across and takes mine, her face sympathetic.

"We need to call the police honey, they need to know what's going on, especially if something has happened to your friend Bobby."

I nod again. She's right, even if they don't believe that Dean is stalking me, maybe I can file a missing persons report on Bobby or something.

I try to remember the name of the detective that Bobby was talking to, the one leading the case in the search for Jason's killer.

"Bobby knew a detective in Chicago, maybe I should call him."

I get up and head to the computer, I hear her following me. A cursory Google search turns up the name John Wyatt and a little more searching leads me to his direct number. My hands are shaking as I dial, but I know this is the right thing to do.

"Detective John Wyatt speaking, how can I help you?" His voice is deep, very businesslike but its clear he could be someone who you could joke around with too. Right now, I'm not kidding though.

"Uh, hi, uh, my name is Castiel Novak, I'm a colleague of Bobby Singers and I was hoping you could help me?"

I hear a short chuckle, but he returns to his businesslike tone immediately.

"I can try, what seems to be the problem?"

Well there's a loaded question, where in hell do I even begin.

"Um, well, I think he's missing and it might be my fault."

"What do you mean by that?"

I take a deep breath and steel myself. Either he's going to believe me, or he's not, I have to take the chance and try.

"Dean Winchester is stalking me, I work with him too, and Bobby is right about him, and yesterday, I figured it out and Bobby helped me get out of Chicago, but I asked him to go back to my house for my cat and he did but now I haven't heard from him since yesterday. I called the office and neither of them is at work, Dean called in sick, but Bobby hasn't shown up or called or anything."

I'm slightly surprised when I don't hear a deep annoyed sigh on the other end, instead I hear a mouse clicking.

"Have you been trying to reach Bobby by cell or at home?"

"By cell, that's the only number I have."

"And what makes you think Dean Winchester is stalking you?" His tone is even, I can't tell if he believes me or is just humouring me.

"He befriended me suddenly last week, and every time I turned around at work, he was there, going to lunch with me every day and making me go to the bar with him at night. And I caught someone sneaking around in my neighbours yard, but they were gone really fast so I didn't see if it was him, but his car was parked out front from the night before because he was too drunk to drive home and almost immediately after I saw someone in the yard next door, his car started and he drove away."

I decide against telling him about feeling watched. My aunt might believe my instincts but a cop won't.

"Where are you now?"

"I'm at my aunts place in Milwaukee, but I'm not sure how safe it is. He found her phone number even though she's not in the phone book, and he found my house without me telling him and my cell number."

"Ok, well you are out of my jurisdiction right now, so I'm going to call a friend in Milwaukee to have her come and talk to you some more, detective Jody Mills. Meanwhile, I'll go check around Bobby's place and see if I can locate him." Somewhere along the line his voice got deadly serious and with some relief I realize that he might believe me, and more importantly he's helping me.

"Ok, thank you Detective Wyatt, can you let me know if you find Bobby?"

"I will keep you updated yes, give me a number I can reach you at there."

I relay my aunts number as well as the new cell number to him and say goodbye.

My aunt looks at me expectantly, wanting to know what he said.

"He believes me, I think, he's going to look into Bobby's disappearance right now, but since I'm in Milwaukee, I'm out of his jurisdiction, so he's going to ask a detective here to come talk to me."

She nods gravely. It seems that having the authorities take me seriously was the last thing she needed before she fully believed me.

She reaches over and takes my hand, pressing it between her own.

"I'm sorry honey, I'm sorry I didn't believe you last night."

"It's ok, I know how crazy it sounds, I do," I rub my forehead with my other hand. "I really wish it wasn't real."

She releases my hand and pulls me into a hug.

"I hope Bobby is ok." Her voice sounds thick, emotional.

"I do too."

The cell phone rings and we let go of each other. My heart pounding I stare at the screen, hoping beyond all hope that it's Bobby but instead the name Mills, J. stares back at me. This must be Detective Wyatt's friend in the force up here.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this Castiel Novak?" Comes a strong female voice down the line. She sounds just as businesslike as John Wyatt.

"Yes, it is."

"I was asked by my friend John in Chicago to give you a call, I understand we have a serious situation involving a stalker going on?"

He is taking me seriously, if he told her it was a serious situation, then he's taking me seriously.

"Yes, I do."

"Ok, why don't you give me your address where you are right now and I'll come on over for a chat."

I agree and give her my aunts address and we both hang up.

We sit nervously on the couch while we await the detectives arrival and it doesn't take her long. We hear the car out front and both get up and look out the window at the unmarked vehicle. A woman in her late 30's gets out, her short brown hair shifting slightly in the breeze as she looks at the house. She's dressed in black pants and a white button down shirt with a black wool knee length coat on top, undone.

Everything about her screams authority, but she's still approachable at the same time.

She doesn't even get the chance to knock before my aunt wrenches open the door, smiling at her warmly.

"Hello, you must be the detective, please come in."

I step into the hall and Jody looks at my aunt for a moment before sizing me up.

"Yes, Detective Jody Mills," she nods at me, "I'm guessing you are Castiel?"

I nod.

"I'm his aunt, Shelly Cuthbert." My aunt holds out her hand and Jody looks at it for a moment before shaking it and stepping into the hallway.

"Pleased to meet you, but for future reference, don't just open the door before you know for sure who it is."

My aunt looks down at the floor guiltily, and I immediately defend her.

"We already knew it was you, we saw you from the window because we have been cautious about who is around the house."

Jody's face softens and she nods at me, steps forward and shakes my hand. She is a slight, woman, but her grip is firm, she's tough too.

My aunt recovers and throws me a grateful look. I just hope she's realized Jody is right, even though I defended her.

"Lets sit in the kitchen, I'll make some tea, or would you prefer coffee detective?"

She hurries down the hall, barely stopping to glance back at Jody as she asks the question. I wave the detective forward and follow them both.

I take her coat when we reach the kitchen, hang it on the hook next to mine and sit at the table across from her while my aunt moves about the kitchen, collecting mugs and boiling water.

Jody puts a notepad down on the table and pulls a pen from her shirt pocket.

"Lets start at the beginning, who is it who you believe is stalking you and when did you first meet them?"

"His name is Dean Winchester, I work with him at Plastics Incorporated, we both work in accounting."

"How long have you worked there?"

"Five years, I met him about two weeks after I started, but didn't really ever talk to him until last Monday, just over a week ago."

"What happened last Monday?"

I tell her about him talking to me when I first got there, making fun of me really, and how he met me at the elevator at lunch. I carry on about the entire week, him greeting me every morning at my car, walking me to and from the office, going with me for lunch every day and then showing up at my house unannounced and uninvited Wednesday night.

"And you never gave him any of your personal information like your address or phone number."

"No, I'm in the phone book, but my cell phone number isn't, but he didn't use that until Saturday, and I know I didn't give it to him Friday night."

"What happened Friday night."

This starts another long moment of me talking, telling her about how he basically forced me to go to the bar with him and the others and what he did to me at the pool table. I can feel the blood in my cheeks as I relay that detail, how awkward it was and how uncomfortable it left me feeling, so much so that I wanted to leave. I tell her what he did outside to the guy who had innocently bumped me too.

"So he specifically told this guy not to touch you?"

"Yeah, it was so weird, he went from yelling at me for asking questions about Bobby to beating the hell out of a guy who hadn't meant to bump me with the door."

"How did his car end up at your house?"

"He left it there when he came to pick me up to go to the bar, we took a cab and he was too drunk to drive so he took the cab home and said he'd pick the car up the next day."

"And that's when he started texting you?"

"Yeah, they came in suddenly, he said he wanted to talk, but I pretended like I wasn't going to be home so I could avoid him."

"Where is your cell, I'd like to see those texts."

"Um, in a million pieces at the office in the parking lot, Bobby figured he'd be tracking my GPS so he smashed it."

She lifts an eyebrow but carries on anyway.

"I'll need your permission for us to contact your carrier to get that information."

"Of course, anything."

"What else happened Saturday?"

I detail what I felt, the eyes on me and what I saw in Rose's backyard.

"It was definitely a man you saw?"

"Yes, I'm fairly sure, it was too big to be a kid, and it looked like whoever it was was hunched over to avoid being seen and then only a minute after I saw this, I heard his car start out front."

"Did you see him in the car or around it?"

"No, but I did see it drive away, fast, like he knew I'd seen him outside."

She keeps scribbling quickly and I sneak a glance at my aunt. Her face is frozen in horror, and her eyes move to my face and I know what she's feeling, that inescapable fear. Her hand comes across and takes mine quickly, gripping it with more force than necessary, but conveying how she's feeling at hearing all of the details.

"Did you hear from him again on the weekend?"

"No, I didn't see him until lunchtime on Monday, he didn't come into the office in the morning and I found out when I eavesdropped on his conversation with Bobby that it was because he was with the police, being questioned again about Jason Singer."

"Ok, we will get to Jason in a minute, when you saw him on Monday, where did you see him, did you talk to him?"

"Yes, I went for lunch at my usual place, Gino's and he was sitting there at the table we had sat at all week. He seemed remorseful over how he had acted at the bar and I stupidly forgave him and we walked back to the office together."

"And what happened next?"

I tell her about Bobby being outside again, and how he had stopped Dean and then how I followed them and what I overheard.

"Has Mr. Singer given you any evidence that Dean is responsible for his sons death?"

"Not entirely, I mean, he told me about how he discovered that Dean was stalking Jason electronically with his Bluetooth and online, he gave the police an anonymous tip last week about it, but he thinks they were too slow investigating and Dean buried it further or erased it."

She nods quietly.

"I'm not that up on the Jason Singer case, not my jurisdiction but I'll look into it. What happened yesterday after you heard the conversation."

"I went back up to my desk and Dean was there, since he had left Bobby's office before I came back upstairs, but he thought I had come back to the office way before, since he didn't know about the eavesdropping obviously, and when he saw me, he grilled me about why I wasn't there. I had to make a flimsy excuse, but I think he was suspicious of what I was up to. Once he finally walked away, I did some research on Bobby's son myself, just to find out what happened, to see if Bobby was right and I just know he is, I don't know how to explain it, but I just know. But what I read made me physically sick, and when I was coming back to my desk, I realized I had left the last article I was reading open on my computer and Dean was in my cubicle staring at it and he was clearly furious."

My hands start to shake a little, remembering his expression. My aunts hand grips mine tighter in response.

"I ran and hid in the stairwell, hoping he'd go into the meeting so I could get my keys and coat and go to Bobby for help."

"How long did you hide?"

"About twenty minutes and then I crawled to my desk for my stuff to stay hidden from view."

"Did you see him again?"

"Not until I was at the elevator, trying to leave. I could hear him coming, but our elevators are so damn slow, I had just got one when he came around the corner and the look he gave me...." I shiver with the memory. "It was vicious."

My aunt is now gripping my hand with both of hers.

Jody nods, scribbling more notes.

"Did he follow you?"

"I don't know, I went straight to Bobby and he told me to get out of town, smashed my phone and when we went to get our cars, we noticed that Deans was gone, which is why he wouldn't let me go home myself. He promised to go get my cat for me and helped me get a new phone and I haven't heard from him since."

"Dean called here yesterday," my aunt pipes up. "Around 4 in the afternoon, he was very pleasant on the phone. I wish I knew then what I know now." She glances at me, her eyes sad.

"I was on the road then," I tell Jody. "On my way here."

"What did he say to you Mrs. Cuthbert?"

"Oh, it's Shelly, and not much, just that he was wondering if Castiel had made it here yet."

Jody nods and looks at me.

"You never gave Dean the number here?"

"No, we barely talked about my aunt, I only told him that I lived with her after my parents died, I didn't even tell him where she lives."

"Have you heard anything from Dean since, or seen him?"

"No, I have been keeping an eye out, but nothing."

She finishes writing and snaps her book closed.

"Ok, here's what we do now, I know that John is looking for Dean and Bobby down there in Chicago, while that is going on, I suggest you stay here. He might know where you are, but this is still your best bet for the moment unless another threat comes in. I will increase patrols in the area and give you my card with my direct number. If you see anything suspicious or have any questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to call."

"You don't think he needs to move to a safe house or something?" My aunt asks, and frankly I was wondering the same thing, she doesn't even have a house alarm.

"At this point, without him actually making a threat, I can't have one authorized, but I will make sure we have officers keeping an eye on you. There's a good chance he's still in Chicago, with Bobby and since he knows where you are, he's probably not concerned."

"So you agree with me that he's behind Bobby's disappearance."

"Again, without proof, it's hard to say, but if I'm being honest, yes. I've dealt with a lot of guys like Dean, and I do think you are right to be worried."

This statement makes me feel better and worse all at once. Finally I have some confirmation from authorities that I am being stalked and Bobby is in trouble, but that means I am actually being stalked, I'm in danger of a crazy lunatic kidnapping me and doing unspeakable things to me. My stomach tenses.

"I'm going to go get in touch with John, and see where we stand, I'll keep in touch."

I get up and retrieve her coat for her and I notice that my tie is missing. I make a mental note to ask my aunt where it went and follow them both to the door, shaking Jody's hand again once more before she leaves.

When she's gone I stumble into the living room and sink down on the couch, suddenly exhausted but still frightened to my core.

My aunt sits next to me, her back stiff and hands folded in her lap. She's quiet for a few minutes, both of us alone in our thoughts.

"Castiel, can I ask you a question?"

I jump a little at her voice.

"Yes, of course."

She looks down at her lap and curiosity and worry envelop me.

"What did he do to the other young man, Bobby's son. What did Dean do to him?"

Dread flows through me, I really don't want her to know, almost as though her mind is too innocent to take in that sort of violence and brutality.

"Please dear, I need to know, need to understand the type of monster I spoke to on the phone yesterday."

I sit up slightly and wrap my arm around her shoulders. She feels so small suddenly, next to me, her shoulders sharp where the bones poke out.

"He kidnapped him, held him for two weeks before he killed him and dumped his body near a lake."

"What did he do to him in those two weeks? How did he die?"

Her voice wobbles, as though she's trying very hard not to picture what I tell her next happening to me.

I swallow hard, I had been trying to avoid thoughts of what Jason endured in those final weeks myself. It seemed easier to ignore them.

"He... Was tortured, sexually assaulted and then stabbed."

She takes a sharp breath. We both sit silent for a few minutes, both of us tense. She leans into me eventually though, resting her head on my shoulder.

I find myself wishing once again that she had a TV, just to distract us from our own thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

Neither if us are hungry by the time dinner rolls around, but my aunt makes some soup anyway, declaring we still need to eat.

Over the afternoon I had figured out a way to watch TV on her computer and we had set it to the local Chicago news station, hoping for updates, but there had been no mentions of Bobby, Dean or even Jason all day. We leave it on anyway, it's better than silence.

My soup is cold before I finish it and we wash the dishes without speaking.

I continue watching the news after dinner, while my aunt picks up a book, only turning one or two pages, not really paying attention.

By ten, we decide to call it a night and try to sleep. She helps me check all the locks tonight, wordlessly moving through the house re-latching every window, while I check the doors three times.

Back in my old bedroom, I slip my suit jacket off and hang it on the chair again, remembering all at once my missing tie that I forgot to ask my aunt about.

Oh well, it can wait until tomorrow, it's not pressing.

I slip my shoes off and sit on the bed. Wishing again that I had more clothes with me.

I lie on my back on the bed, staring at the familiar ceiling. I leave the light on, not sure I can face darkness and my own thoughts right now, especially after the dreams I had last night.

My mind works in circles, what I should do next, where Bobby could be and what Dean might have done to him.

I'm scared for myself, and for my aunt and for anyone else who Dean might decide to have a beef with.

My mind melds into a dream as I fall asleep, overcome with exhaustion. I'm in the office again, Ellen is there, so is my aunt and so is Jody and Bobby. They all stand around me in a circle protecting me and Dean's furious. He pulls out a gun, a shotgun I believe and points it at them and I start screaming for them to get down. He aims at Ellen first and pulls the trigger, I look away, but hear her go down, feel the blast in my bones. In horror I look up just as he moves the gun slightly and aims at my aunt, and I jump forward, trying to get her out of the way and we both hit the ground hard and it feels like it moves with the force of our fall. But then it moves again, a sharp jolt under my body.

My eyes snap open, I'm still in my old bedroom, still on the bed. The room is cold and dark.

I left the light on, I know I did.

"Wake up sleepy head."

Dean, I know his voice like it is ingrained in my head now and my heart damn near jumps out of my chest.

Moving only my eyes, I start scanning the room when his body steps in front of the window and blocks out the moonlight. He looks huge, ominous as he stands there and I feel a scream bubbling up my throat.

The moment I open my mouth he lunges forward and slams his hand over it, jamming my teeth together painfully.

"Now now, shhhhh, we don't want to wake the neighbourhood."

I start thrashing, moving my limbs in no particular sequence, just trying to disengage his hand from my mouth, get him away from my bed. He presses harder on my mouth, holding my head down and pins it in position. Cold metal presses against my temple and a clicking noise follows. The sound of a bullet being put in position. I stop moving instantly.

"There we go, I wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face of yours, but if you give me no choice." He pushes the end of the gun against my head sharply in emphasis.

Breathing hard through my nose, my mind scrambles on how to get out of this, how he got in here, what he's planning to do to me. I remember all at once what he did to Jason and my body gets even colder, bile rising up my throat.

"Hi Cas, fancy meeting you here," he chuckles, a deep sound low in his throat. His face is only inches from mine now. "Now if I take my hand off your mouth, are you going to be quiet?"

I nod as best as I can with his body weight holding my head down.

"Atta boy, time to get up, get your shoes and coat on."

He backs up, releasing my head and stands at the side of the bed, still pointing the gun at me. The moon reflects off of it, it has silver detailing, it actually looks pretty old.

Heart pounding I don't move.

"Please don't hurt my aunt." I manage to whisper. I can only hope at this point that he hasn't already got to her.

He steps back towards the bed, leaning over me again and blocking out the light.

"I won't if you do as you're told."

With that he steps back again.

Body shaking in fear, I force my legs to swing over the side and lean down to slip my shoes on. Keeping the gun on me, he steps over to the desk and grabs my suit jacket and throws it at me.

"Put it on, it's cold out."

I fumble getting my hands into the sleeves and then sliding it up over my shoulders, and I can feel him getting impatient.

When I finally finish, I sit waiting for instruction. Why couldn't I have been a kid who was really into sports? Then at least I might have some sort of heavy trophy or baseball bat or something in my room that I could hit him with. Instead, here I sit, a lame duck who can't defend himself.

Dean steps back in front of me, so close our legs are touching.

"Put your wrists together, hold them up."

I do what he asks and he pulls a long piece of fabric from his pocket, still holding the gun in one hand loosely, he wraps the fabric around my wrists tightly, knotting it and immobilizing my arms.

It's not until he's done that I get a good look at what he used.

My tie. The missing one.

All at once I realize that he's probably been in the house this entire time. Maybe since we went grocery shopping, that's why the patrols didn't get him, he was already past them.

This doesn't answer how he intends to get me out, seeing as he's dressed me to stay warm.

He hooks a hand under my armpit and hauls me up to stand.

With the hand holding the gun he reaches up and brushes just the tips of his fingers down my face, from forehead to chin, my stomach lurches with the unwanted touch.

I force my eyes up to his face, desperate to have him feel some empathy for me, to let me go, but he just smiles at me, his eyes crinkling slightly in the corners.

"Lets go." He instructs and turns me, pushing me towards the door, but hanging on to my jacket in case I try to bolt, and I consider it.

I could try to run, he'd probably shoot me, but wouldn't that be better than what he has planned for me?

A voice in my head screams that I don't want to die, not yet, my instincts want to keep fighting.

We go through the door and I look to see my aunts door still closed, does this mean she's still sleeping?

"I haven't touched her, relax, just be quiet and she won't get hurt." His voice is right in my ear, low and gravelly and his breath tickles across my neck.

I nod in understanding and start down the stairs as he pushes me towards them, trying my best to be as quiet as possible. At the bottom, he pushes me towards the back of the house, to the back door. I hear him chuckle as we reach it, he pulls my trenchcoat off the hook and drapes it over my shoulders.

"It's funny, but I'm starting to like this stupid coat of yours."

I now hate it.

I move towards the door again, assuming that's the direction we are going, but he stops me suddenly, grabbing my shoulder.

"Hold up, lets just let the cops go by."

I see headlights reflect off the back fence as he says this. I have no idea how he knew they were coming right then, but I kick myself for not using it to my advantage.

Once the car is gone, he reaches around me, pressing his body against mine from behind again, and turns the lock, then the handle. Like at the pool hall he takes his time moving away. This time I know the intention behind it, why he does it and I shiver in fear.

The night air is cold, biting against my cheeks when we get outside. He leads me down a series of back paths, through backyards and finally onto a poorly lit street a few blocks from my aunts house, where I can just see the outline of his car parked beside an abandoned building.

"Now, are you going to behave?"

I look back at him quickly and nod. I've already been doing what he wants, why would I stop now, I don't have any advantage?

"Good," he smiles at me again. "That means you can sit in the car, not the trunk."

I shudder at the thought of being in the trunk, I hate the dark and closed in spaces, and I have a split second of being grateful to him that he's not making me get in there.

He opens the passenger door and helps me get in, making sure I don't bump my head. Then he reaches in, pulls the seatbelt across me, purposely sweeping his hands across my body as he does so and buckles it in place before slamming the door and walking around to get in his side. With my hands already tied together and the belt now holding my arms down, I'm completely immobilized, which I'm sure is his intent, but I wish I was like Houdini and knew how to get out of this type of stuff.

Dean slides in the car beside me, not even bothering with his own seatbelt and starts the car. The engine vibrates under me, it's even louder from the inside and my teeth knock together for a second or two.

He throws it into drive and pulls away from the building, and starts heading even further from my aunts house. I'm terrified to talk, to ask questions, and I wouldn't know how to negotiate with him to get myself out of this even if I could. So we sit in silence for a long while.

I try to pay attention to the roads, figure out where we are going. We head north on the 45, until the freeway turns into a back road highway, close to the Milwaukee river and swamp national park.

He starts talking as we get out of the city, and the sound of his voice so suddenly in combination with engine is jarring.

"You know Cas, this could have gone differently, I thought you were smarter, better than the other one, he was just practice anyway, I've always wanted you. But you had to talk to the old lunatic, had to get all suspicious and stick your nose in where it doesn't belong. We could have had a lot of fun, though I still think we will, but just not how I pictured it, you know?"

I don't have a response to this, so I just sit silent. Seeing no reaction from me, he laughs quietly and turns up the radio, classic rock is playing and he starts humming along, like we are out having fun, not like he is currently taking me somewhere against my will with the intention of doing horrible things to me.

I turn back to the road, trying to keep my focus on where we are going, figuring its the only thing I can do right now.

Then he starts taking turns, and I lose sight of any signs, indicating where we are. Finally he turns suddenly into a clump of trees, where until we had turned, I would never have seen the dirt tracks leading through them. We follow the unmarked trail for close to a mile before I see something outlined in a clearing. When the headlights hit it, I realize it's a cabin, old and rustic, the front porch is falling off, the windows look like empty holes and it creeps me the hell out.

Dean pulls up out front and kills the engine. Without looking at me, he gets out of the car and comes around to my side, opening the back door first and retrieving something before opening my door. I see a ruck sack hanging on his shoulder now, weighted down with stuff. He leans in and undoes my seatbelt, and then pulls me out of the car. It's not until I'm standing beside it that I realize the gun is in the back of his pants, not his hand. This is my chance. With my hands bound, I can't grab the gun, but I can run, dive into the trees and out of his sight, it's so dark out here. He steps back to close the door, leaving me leaning against the car for a split second and I take it, toes digging into the dirt I round the back of the car, figuring I can use it for cover if need be and start heading towards the trees.

"CAS!"

I hear his feet behind me, and to my horror I realize he is a much faster runner than I am, he doesn't even need to use the gun to stop me, he can just catch me. I reach the trees just as he reaches me, grabbing the back of my coat and shirt and hauling me around to face him. His hand comes up and slaps me hard across the face. I slump to the side from the force of it, my cheek numb at first before the burn kicks in, there's also some stinging, he must have broken skin.

He pushes me down onto my knees on the ground and pulls out the gun and I freeze. This is it, he's already going to kill me.

He pushes the barrel against my forehead roughly, pushing my head back. I can hear him breathing hard from running and from fury.

"That wasn't smart Cas." He almost spits the words at me, fighting for control.

I stay quiet, waiting for him to pull the trigger, and one tear trickles down my cheek, I feel it but I can't stop it. Somehow it stops him. He pulls the gun away from my head, turns it over in his hand and I see it coming before it hits me, a silent scream opening my mouth and then it connects with my head.


	10. Chapter 10

Fuck my head hurts. My first sensation is pounding, within my skull, like my brain is trying to break free of its confines. Even the sound of the air going in and out of my nose hurts.

Where the hell am I? Why can't I move my arms? Why is my face sticky?

I move my arm to try to touch my face, find out what the substance is that is covering my eyelid and down my cheek but I meet resistance. My arms feel numb, my hands even worse, like they are phantoms in my body and I can't connect to them. I can't even tell where they are located around me.

There is darkness, my eyes are closed, but no light penetrates my eyelids and my eyes feel sealed shut, dry. I try to open them, but they won't budge, the left one covered in the sticky substance is even more resistant.

I start searching my brain for clues as to how I ended up here, where I am and why I'm in so much pain.

My aunt, I remember my aunt, I was at her house, why?

Jody, her face flashes in, she's leaning over my aunts kitchen table writing in a notebook. What is she writing?

Bobby, he looks scared, he's smashing my phone on the ground.

The thoughts come faster now, memories in snippets as I pull myself through the fog.

They finally stop on Dean, his face, inches from my own in my childhood bedroom, full of anger as he held up the gun and brought it down.

My breathing picks up speed as I remember, I hear a soft whining noise and realize its coming from me.

He hit me with the gun, but then what. I'm not dead, clearly.

Dammit why won't my eyes open.

The room smells, stale, like rotting wood and with something metallic.

I force my lips apart, but they are also sticky, with whatever is on my face.

Blood.

It has to be, the metallic smell, like iron, and it's covering my face, probably from where he hit me with the gun. He must have just knocked me out, he didn't try to kill me.

So where am I now?

I focus on the rest of my body, trying to pinpoint what position I'm in.

My legs feel heavy, but they aren't numb like my arms and hands. My feet are cold, my back against something. No, not against, I'm lying down, I'm lying on something, soft?

I hear footsteps getting closer, feet on a wooden floor and my heart picks up speed.

Wood scrapes against wood, followed by a clicking noise, like the cord on a lamp being pulled and then there's light, pushing through my eyelids, making me wince as my head throbs from the intrusion. Instinctively I squint my eyes, giving away that I am aware.

"Good, about time you started to wake up."

His voice is level, no trace of anger in it, I'd like to keep it that way.

"I should probably clean you up." He states evenly, I hear his feet move away, back out the door and moments later the sound of water running.

I take the moment to try to open my eyes again. My right one finally cracks, but my left is sealed shut with the blood. The light coming in, even through a slit, makes my head swim with pain and I feel nausea pool in my stomach. But I force it open even further, I need details.

The room is small, wooden slat walls. Cobwebs are clustered in the corner, and a single bulb dangles above me, a cord hanging down. I try to turn my head, get a better view, but my neck is stiff, sore and the going is slow. All I can see peripherally is my arm anyway. Forcing my eye up, I can see my hands securely attached to a wrought iron bed frame, explaining the numbness.

This also answers the question of what I'm lying on, a bed, and it looks to be old, creaky, the paint on the iron chipping and flaking away with rust dotting the exposed areas.

Dean comes back into the room carrying a rag and a bowl with steam rising off of it.

He sets it down next to me, on what I can only presume is a table nearby but I can't see it and then sits next to me on the bed, looking down at me appraisingly, like he's trying to figure out where to begin.

My breathing hitches slightly in fear and he smiles softly.

"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you, just need to wash the blood off your face."

Like he isn't the cause of the blood at all.

He reaches over, to where I can't see on the table and I hear water swishing, and then dropping back into the bowl as he wrings out the rag.

He brings it over to my face and starts gently wiping at the dried blood over my eye. His movements are tender, and I force myself to relax a little under his care. This seems to help keep him more calm, which can only be a good thing for me.

When he pulls the rag away to rinse it each time, I see the deep red staining it and fight the urge to throw up. Never really was a fan of blood.

It takes him some time but eventually he frees my eye lid and I'm able to open it, regaining depth perception. He moves on to my cheek, which stings from the cuts he left when he smacked me but I stay silent.

He dabs at my lips, the desirous look in his eye as he does makes my stomach flip, but he carries on when they are clean to my ear and the rest of my face.

Once the blood is gone, he turns back to the table and I can hear him moving things, packages rustling and he turns back with gauze and some medical tape in his hand.

"Just gonna cover it, I don't think it needs stitches, but we don't need you to bleed everywhere again."

I hold still, showing relent and he smiles again and applies the makeshift bandage.

I want to ask him to release my hands and arms, just so I can regain feeling, but I'm terrified it will anger him. He must see something in my facial expression though, probably desperation.

"What?" His voice is still even, calm.

"I... I can't feel my arms."

His expression doesn't change, he just looks up at my hands, almost curiously and then back down at me.

"Can I trust you not to do anything stupid if I release them?"

"Yes, I promise." I try to be as genuine as possible. At this point, I can't outrun him, I'm unarmed and I'm injured, safe to say there's not much I could do anyway.

He stares at me a long moment, considering and then stands up, leaning over me, the tails of his shirt tickling my face and chest and starts untying my hands.

He lets them drop and they flop down onto the pillow above my head. I try again to move them, to bring them down beside my body at least but they barely twitch. He watches again for a moment before reaching forward, grasping my left arm and gently placing it my side and then moving the right one. He winds the tie around my right wrist again, attaching the other end to something on the side of the bed I can't see, but I assume it's part of the frame.

My fingers on my left hand are starting to tingle, as the blood flow resurges through the limb. I know it probably won't be long before they are both on fire as the nerves come back to life, but it'll be better than them stuck above my head any longer.

He collects the bowl of red water from the wooden side table I can now see and the soiled cloth before retreating back out the door, closing it behind him.

With more awareness I can take in more of my surroundings. There is a window in the room, covered by a heavy curtain, but not much else other than the double bed and the table and light bulb.

My feet are still cold and I glance down to see them bare, my shoes and socks gone. Then I realize so is my shirt, though my pants remain, I guess that's something.

I can hear him moving around in the rest of the cabin, sliding furniture and opening and closing doors and cupboards.

The feeling in my arms is now a full on roar and my wrists are throbbing the worst from being bound, but I grit my teeth to bear with it, it will stop, I know it will.

I focus on the window, trying to distract myself, trying to get some semblance of what time it is. The curtain is heavy, but it doesn't shield the daylight around the edges, not entirely.

If its day, my aunt knows I'm gone, is hopefully getting the police looking for me. I can only hope they are fast enough, before he does anything else to me.

As the burn recedes in my hands I try moving my right one, to test how strong the hold is that the binding has and it's tight, too tight for me to wriggle through.

I start trying to shuffle off the bed, inch by inch to the side, to try to sit up, use my free hand to start untying the bound one, but the bed squeaks loudly, the springs grinding together in protest and I immediately hear his feet coming close.

I remain in position, trying to look innocent when he comes in.

He shoves the door open and glares at me.

"I'm sorry, I just.... I wasn't trying anything... I promise... I need to use the bathroom though, can you take me, please?"

His face remains hard for a moment, but eventually he nods and steps forward, pulling a knife from his pocket and cutting the tie. Clearly he has no intention of using it again, which makes me terrified about what he intends to use next.

He helps me sit up and swing my legs over the side, his hands gentle, despite his hard expression.

The room spins violently when I sit up and I have to swallow hard to keep from throwing up from the feeling.

"Close your eyes and take a couple of deep breathes." He says quietly, hands steadying me.

I do as he says and slowly the feeling recedes.

I open my eyes when I feel ready enough and nod at him. He nods back and pulls me up into standing, where I immediately wobble and fall right into him. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me up while I flail, trying to regain my footing. I think I hear him laugh at one point and when I finally do manage to get upright on my own, shaky as it is, his entire expression has changed to one of amusement.

"What are you, drunk?" He laughs.

I take a deep breath and force myself to stand a little straighter. He raises his eyebrow at me, but moves to stand at my side as support as we walk, keeping his hands on my waist.

Outside my little room is a short hallway, also covered with wood paneling and only one door before opening up into what I can see is a kitchen. He guides me to the door, not the kitchen and releases my waist with one hand when we reach it, sliding it in the dark room to the wall just inside the door. He finds the switch and the room fills with light, revealing a small porcelain vanity, that is cracked inside and stained with years of dirt, a toilet beside it, also worse for wear and a claw foot tub with a plastic curtain drawn around it.

He pushes me from behind a little, hands lingering on my bare skin, his thumbs sliding under the waist band of my pants at the back before he lets go and closes the door as he leaves.

I can see why he has no issue with me being free in here, there's no window, no escape. I hear him lock the door from the outside, he can also trap me in here.

A quiver of discomfort at being locked in the small room runs down my spine, but at the same time, it's better than being tied to the bed.

I stumble over to the vanity, where a dirty mirror hangs above the sink, parts of the reflective surface missing from the back, chipped away with time, leaving only one small circle in which to see your face. And my face is a damn mess. The bandage covers the mark made by the butt of the gun, but I have scrapes on my cheek from his slap, no doubt from the ring he wears and heavy dark circles under my eyes that look garish compared to my very pale complexion.

I very gently lift one side of the bandage on my forehead, and instantly wish I hadn't. A cut, which could equally be described as a hole, is above my left eyebrow, looking very angry. I press the tape down again gingerly with shaking hands and notice my wrist while I'm doing so. Red welts circle both of them from the tie being too tight and they feel like deep bruises when I touch them.

Dean knocks on the door suddenly, and I jump about three feet off the ground, almost falling over but bracing myself on the wall and the back of the toilet in time.

"Cas? You alright in there?"

I sit down on the toilet seat, shaking and panting.

"Uh... Yeah, sorry, won't be much longer."

I have no idea what he thinks I'm doing in here, but in truth, I do need to pee, should probably do that while I have the chance.

I finish and flush the toilet, washing my hands in the dingy sink and wonder why I'm bothering. I dry them hands on my pants since there are no towels anywhere, just a cracked, dried out piece of soap on the back of the sink and turn towards the door.

Somehow this tiny room now feels very safe. Sure I'm locked in from the outside, but he's not in here with me. I've gone from being terrified of this tiny space and its closed in walls to not wanting to leave.

Clearly Dean has been listening though and I hear the key in the lock. He opens the door and stares at me, face blank at first and I step towards him, looking down at the floor as I do, avoiding his gaze, and assume he's going to just lead me back to the bed and reattach me to it.

Instead he steps towards me, slides his arms around my waist and pulls my body flush up against his.

I inhale loudly in surprise and look up at him and suddenly his lips are on mine, urgent, rough, and I try to jerk my head back and away but he slides a hand up my back and grips my hair, holding me in place. His mouth moves on mine, I can feel his tongue sweeping across my lips, trying to pry them apart and I fight it. This annoys him and his hand tightens in my hair, the other one slides down the back of my pants and grips my ass, hard, painfully digging his fingers in to the flesh and I gasp in pain, opening my mouth and giving him the access he wants.

His tongue sweeps around my mouth, he tastes like whiskey, and something else, maybe a microwave burrito. He moans softly into my mouth and the hand on my ass eases slightly, now that he has what he wants. Instead it opens, pushing me further into him, and that's when I feel his erection, hard against my hip and terror shoots through me. He raped Jason, there is no reason to believe he won't do the same to me.

Panicked I pull my hands up as best as I can and start trying to push him back, away from me but he tightens his grip, turns and shoves me painfully into the door, using his body weight to keep me there. The wood digs into my back, scraping as he grinds against me.

The hand on my ass leaves and I almost breathe a sigh of relief until I realize its moving towards the front of my body, sliding back down into my pants, stroking me.

He notices immediately that I am still soft, not responding to him at all and he becomes annoyed again.

He releases my mouth, licking and biting a trail down my neck as I pant with fear, his hand now tugging on me roughly, trying to get me hard but only causing me pain as his callouses scrape across the delicate skin.

"Dean, please, please don't do this to me." I resort to begging, eyes filling with tears and he stops moving, coming up to face me, his eyes hard, fierce.

With no control I sob once, and then again. His face doesn't change, if anything it just gets more angry.

The hand down my pants tightens suddenly, around my dick, painfully and I groan, all awareness moving to that single point on my body.

He leans into my ear, breath hot on my neck as he talks.

"You belong to me now, the sooner you realize that, the better."

He releases me all at once, only grabbing one arm hard, and dragging me down the hall to the bedroom. I try to fight back, to stop our progression but he pulls me viciously, and I am airborne for a moment as he throws me onto the bed.

Scrambling I look for anything I can grab to get away, or even throw at him, but all I get are handfuls of an old quilt. He dives towards me fast and I bring my feet up, attempting to block him and kick him back and I connect, square in his chest and he lands on his knees a few feet back, face furious as he gets back up. Using my heels I shove myself backwards on the bed, my back slamming into the wall. My hands search aimlessly at the side of the bed and I try to push the bed towards him and away from the wall, so I can slide down between them and maybe under the bed but he's faster than me, grabbing my left ankle and pulling me back towards him. Pain shoots through my hip as he does, the joint being strained by the violence of his pulling and once I'm close enough he wraps his arms around my torso, despite my fists flying, and lifts me so the headboard is above my head again. When he lets go, he starts trying to grab my arms, stop them from moving and snaps something on the right one. I see a flash of metal and the open loop of the other end of the cuffs and shove both of my fists up into his stomach, just below his ribs. It winds him, makes him cough and he tries to block me from doing it again, but I change my aim at the last second, getting him in the neck this time.

"Son of a bitch." He growls out, his voice tight from the hit. I swing my right arm, smacking him in the nose with the loose end of the cuffs and blood drips down on my chest.

My adrenaline on high and my opponent weakened I think I have a chance. Throwing my shoulder up into his chest I roll to the left fast, trying to get out from under him, but he's too fast, too much strength regained in the split second it took me to make a plan and he shoves me back down again, putting all of his force into my shoulder and I hear a loud pop and the pain blinds me. It is white hot, like nothing I have ever felt before and I scream without thinking to. His fist comes down, catching the right side of my face and the room dims and my head feels hazy for a few moments before the ringing starts in my ears.

The white hot pain comes back as he yanks my arms above my head, fastening them in place, but I've lost the ability to fight for the moment and I can't stop him.

With me subdued, I feel him sit back, coughing a few times, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

At least I hurt him, got a little of my own back on him, I didn't go down without a fight, my aunt would be proud.

My vision clearing and the dull roar in my ears rapidly disappearing I look at him, forcing myself to glare. If he's going to rape me, or kill me, I'm sure as hell not making it easier, he might have thought I was weak, but maybe I've proved him wrong a little.

He glares back, all desire gone from his eyes, blood still runs from his nose and his neck has two red marks on it.

We sit in this standstill for a few moments, neither one willing to back down, even though only a week ago, I might have, but I refuse to now, and fight the urge to move my eyes away.

This seems to surprise him, I can see it in his face, he was not expecting this of me. In truth, neither was I, but who cares, I have something in me that's fighting, and damn I'm glad it's come out now.

Both of us breathe hard, though every movement makes my shoulder scream in pain, I try to hide it from my face. I can't let him see how much I'm suffering, can't let him win.

Suddenly he smiles, it's wry, but it's there.

"Huh, I was not expecting that, you actually surprised me there."

Having very little experience of my own in dealing with this sort of situation, aka no experience, I try to think of the characters in my favourite TV shows, how they behave, lift my eyebrow at him, but refuse to move my eyes away from his face, even though he's already looking down, examining the blood he's swiping away from his nose, clearly trying to determine how bad it is.

"Could you at least do me a solid and put my shoulder back in?" I force confidence into my voice and am surprised when I succeed because I'm back to shaking inside because I don't know what he's going to do next.

His eyes come back up, filled with darkness again.

"Yeah, no, not a chance in hell I'm giving you any room again."

He stands up, turns towards the door and I breathe a small sigh of relief that at least he's stopped trying to rape me for the moment.

He turns back to me at the door though, his face contemplative.

"This fighting spirit of yours, it could turn out to be fun."

He stalks out then, pulling his bloodied shirt off, and I hear him chuckle as he goes down the hall.

My spine is ice with fear, I may have just made this a lot worse for myself.


	11. Chapter 11

He leaves me chained to the bed for at least two hours, not checking on me once. The agony in my shoulder keeps me from being able to really focus on counting seconds to figure out how much time.

Instead I listen to him, try to figure out what he's doing. I can hear other voices and it takes me a minute to realize he's got a TV on. I wonder if they are saying anything about my disappearance on the news.

I wonder if they found Bobby.

The sliver of light around the curtain starts to turn dark orange and then fades to purple before I hear his footsteps again. I tense up at hearing them and a fresh wave of pain shoots through me.

The door scrapes open and he steps in, wearing different clothes than before. He's traded his jeans and shirt for a pair of loose black boxers and a plain grey t-shirt, his feet are bare and he hasn't shaved.

In his hand he holds a glass of water, which I assume is for me. I consider saying no, worried he's put something in it, but my mouth and throat are burning with dryness.

He sits next to me wordlessly, lifting my head with one hand while tipping the glass to my mouth with the other. Once I start I drink greedily, desperate for more.

He stands when the glass is empty and leaves, but doesn't shut the door. I hear the water running and he returns a few moments later with more water in the glass, repeating the process.

"We'll just stick with two for now, I don't need you puking everywhere," he says quietly.

He sets the empty glass down and turns back to me, looking at my now black and blue and swollen shoulder. He touches it gently, fingers feeling through the flesh to the bone, seeing how its sitting and I moan with the pain. His fingers feel like hot pokers stabbing through and tears fill my eyes.

His mouth tightens into a line, his eyes glance at my face for a moment before he gets up again, leaving me alone with the door open.

He comes back with something small in his hand as well as his belt, and my eyes follow the small item as he places it in the cuff around my right hand, freeing it before he reattaches the loop to the bed frame, keeping my left hand bound.

He gently lowers my hand and I moan loader at the movement.

"Ok, not gonna lie, this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, I'm sorry I left it this long, but I need to pop it back in." His voice is soft, full of remorse and I nod.

He picks up the belt, and holds it in front my my mouth and it takes me a second to realize he wants me to bite on it. I open my lips, allow him to slide it between my teeth and shut my eyes tight.

He puts his hands in position, something that causes excruciating pain already and he's not even done anything yet really.

"On the count of three," he starts, his grip tightening. "One... Two..." He doesn't wait til three, suddenly he jerks my arm, pushing and shoving at the same time and I hear and feel the pop followed by white hot pain, worse than when he had initially popped it out. I scream through my teeth and the belt, until my throat is raw and I can feel the leather giving under my bite.

My body is relaxed all at once, I can hear Dean saying my name over and over, shaking me, shaking my sore shoulder but he sounds far away, then he's coming closer fast.

"Cas? Can you hear me? Cas? Wake up!"

I realize I must have passed out from the pain.

Awareness fully returning I crack my eyes open and look at him. My jaw aches fiercely and my throat is burning and raw from screaming.

"There you are, shit you freaked me out there."

I wonder how long I was out.

Comforted that I'm awake he sits back, examines his belt for a moment and I can see the impressions I made, almost taking a bite right out of it. He tosses it to the side and turns back to me. His hand comes up, gently brushing down the side of my face, as he looks down at me sadly.

"You know, I don't actually want to have to hurt you."

"Then let me go." The words spill out before I even think them, and I brace myself for an angry reaction.

He stares at me for a long moment, face unreadable but then he shakes his head.

"In it too deep now, I can't."

The confusion I'm feeling must show on my face because suddenly he's moving, uncuffing my left hand and helping me sit up.

"I'll show you."

He helps me down the hall like he did the first time, except we don't stop at the bathroom, this time he takes me into the kitchen, which is actually a large room encompassing kitchen, dining room and living room all in one. A large stone fireplace is directly across from me, empty, the stones blackened from years of use. The furniture is well used, the formica table top is chipped and the wooden coffee table is missing an original leg, a piece of firewood stands as a replacement. 

He sits me in a chair at the table, which I notice is bolted to the floor, and cuffs my left hand to the arm so I can't run, though I don't have the energy even if I wanted to, and turns the TV on.

My aunts face is the first thing I see and she's crying, standing in front of about 50 microphones, begging and pleading with Dean to let me go, bring me home safely and I feel tears running down my cheeks. With my aunt overcome with emotion, Jody steps in, giving more official details and a picture of me comes up in the corner. It's the picture from this year at the office. Every year we have to have an updated photo taken for the website, so 'people can get to know us', which I've always thought was ridiculous, but it's proving useful now.

Jody starts describing Dean, his car, and what he is capable of and his work picture replaces mine on the screen.

She finishes it with a plea for anyone who has information to call the police.

Dean flips the TV off again and stands looking at me.

"I can't let you go now."

"You think keeping me... Killing me," I stumble over the words. "Is going to make it better?"

I sit forward, hoping maybe I can reason with him, make him see sense.

"Dean, this is your chance to do the right thing, and if you want to just drop me somewhere and take off, I won't follow you, I just want to go home." My throat tightens as I talk, my voice getting choked up.

He can't hold my gaze, looks down to the floor. Maybe it's working, maybe I'm getting through to him.

"Please Dean." I start begging again, my old staple.

He looks back up at me.

"But I don't want you to go, you belong here with me."

"No, I don't, and you know that."

He stares at the floor a moment longer, considering but then his head snaps up, his face hard.

"No, no, I've waited too long for you, and I will make you want to stay here with me."

Panicking that I'm losing this chance, I start clawing at every possible thought I have to break him, to make him realize what he's doing is insane.

"What about your brother? What will he think if he sees this?"

He looks at me, eyebrow up wryly.

"Who, Sam? He doesn't care, he left me, just like my dad did, just like my mom did, they all left." He walks towards me, puts his hands on the arms of the chair and leans down, face inches from mine, so close I can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the individual lines of colour in his green eyes. "You don't get to leave me Cas, because I get to make the decisions."

He presses his mouth to mine, and I don't have time to close my lips before his tongue pushes in, searching, cutting off my breath and ability to speak. He moans into my mouth, pushing me back into the chair, forcing my head back. When my throat is more exposed he works a trail down it, leaving marks and my mind scrambles to find something to say to stop him. My right arm is still useless, even with my shoulder back in, the pain and swelling won't let me move it and my left is cuffed. He separates my knees with his and steps between them, keeping me from bringing my leg up into his balls.

"What did you do to Bobby?" The question bursts from my mouth and I instantly regret it.

He snaps back, glaring at me hard.

"Why the fuck do you care?"

Is he jealous of me and Bobby? How could that even possibly be?

"I just want to know, it doesn't mean anything."

Still glaring he gives me a cold smile.

"They won't be finding him anytime soon."

I can't breathe. All this time I suspected it, somehow knew he'd killed Bobby, but hearing it now is almost unbearable and a tear snakes down my cheek. He watches its progression, his eyes cold before grabbing my jaw, forcing me to face him, my eyes to meet his unrelenting.

"It's just you and me now."

I take a shaking breath and he smiles, enjoying my terror.

"I liked that fighting spirit, I honestly did at the time, but I really do prefer you like this, the real Cas, scared of his own shadow."

My heart is pounding so hard it hurts, whatever he's now planning, I will not be able to stop him. The knowledge feels like a block if ice between my shoulder blades.

He moves his hand from my jaw down to my neck, holding tight, but not squeezing too much, at least not yet. I can feel the power that hand has, know the damage it could do and stop moving.

He unlocks the cuff on the chair leaving them still attached to my arm and hauls me up on my feet by my throat and starts backing me down the hall to the bedroom.

I start begging again, hoping to bring back the remorseful man I saw not too long ago, but there is no sign of him in the eyes in front of me.

"Please, please, please, please..."

The backs of my legs hit the bed and he shoves me back, pinning me immediately with a knee on my chest, cuffing my hands above me again.

My pleas now whispers, interrupted only by breaths, he glares down at me.

"Please what?"

"Please don't hurt me, don't do this..."

He stares at me hard, but slowly, ever so slowly I see softening in his eyes as I stare up at him weeping and pathetic looking.

He presses a palm to my cheek, which is better than on my throat, and runs his thumb along the skin under my eye. I don't fight it, hoping if I show some relent he will calm down, his anger will ebb away. But all too suddenly the softness is gone, replaced by cold hard eyes again.

He lifts his knee from my chest and quickly unbuttons and unzips my pants, yanking them down roughly and tossing them to the side.

His eyes hungrily travel up my body, taking in every inch of skin, jut of bone and my cheeks flare with blush despite myself. I pull my legs up, trying to give myself cover and he keeps himself in a position where I can't kick him again. With my arms chained up, I don't know how long I can hold him off.

In a few smooth moves, he pulls his own shirt off, and then removes the boxers and he's already hard, the sight makes me feel faint and nauseous at the same time.

He opens a drawer on the table, and pulls out a bottle of something that I can't see in his hand and stands considering it for a moment.

"I guess since its your first time, I'll use this."

He shows me the bottle, lubricant and my body starts to shake.

He shoves my knees apart again, as far as he can and kneels between them, preventing me from protecting myself and pain blooms in my hips as I try to fight him.

It feels almost clinical, lying here, pinned, watching him as he opens the bottle and smears some on his fingers before closing it again and putting it on the bed. He slides his hand between my legs, lifting my balls out of the way and I can't see anymore but I can feel it. I jump, try to move again but a firm, painful grip on my hip stops me, so I'm only shaking with the effort. His fingers, press against my hole, before he pushes one in, forcing it in the entire way.

A strained noise escapes my lips at the intrusion and the encompassing burn it causes. He moves the finger around, slicking me inside before sliding it out part way and pushing back in again. The finger holds me still and he lets go of my hip and starts stroking himself, his face no longer hard, but completely engulfed with desire.

He soon forces a second finger in, and the burn intensifies, my muscles contracting, trying to stop the intrusion instinctively but he presses on.

When he adds a third, I start whimpering, the pressure of him separating them, forcing me open is painful and sickening.

He doesn't keep the three in long, and I almost cry in relief when he removes them. But then he's picking up the bottle again, pouring more out and slicking himself and my breathing picks up speed. He is far larger than those three fingers.

I try once again to bring my legs up, close them and keep him out, but he's fast, gripping my thighs and holding them apart.

He moves like a cat up my body, covering me, forcing my legs that much further apart, and with his left hand he pulls my knee up, pressing it almost to my ribs, giving himself more access. He lines himself up with his right hand and I can feel the head of his cock pressing against my hole, already starting to push in and I let out a strangled sob.

He kisses me to silence me and pushes suddenly, hard, getting himself half way in and I scream into his mouth. Biting my bottom lip lightly he pushes the rest of the way in and I throw my head back, interrupted screams coming from my throat and he presses his lips to my Adam's apple, I can feel him as he laughs lightly at my reaction.

I feel impaled, like he is tearing me in half from the inside.

He doesn't give me time to relax or adjust, he just starts moving, fast, in and out without relent. The pain when I feel myself tearing inside from the friction makes me silent, and I can't breathe. He didn't use enough lube, and what he did use, it's gone.

He grunts on top of me, moaning with each thrust, as though he's entirely oblivious to the pain he's causing me.

"Fuck Cas, you are so tight, I could fuck you forever."

He picks up speed, his body jerking erratically, my hips ache from the pressure of being held apart, from his slamming movements, but that is nothing compared to the pain between my legs. The bed creaks and groans with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming into the wall on each one.

He cries out suddenly, slamming into me even harder, unrelenting and a strangled cry comes out of me. I feel his cock jerking inside of me, despite the pain and I know he's coming.

He collapses when he's done, breathing hard, still buried deep inside me and I'm pinned down, both physically and mentally by the horror of what he just did to me. My mind can't grip on a reaction, it swirls, desperate for an escape from my reality.

It feels like we lie like this forever, I can't grasp the time, but the pain remains, burning more the longer he holds me down, stays within me.

He moves slowly eventually, lifting his shoulders and head up and leaning down to kiss my open mouth, frozen in a scream, he doesn't seem to notice and I barely feel it. I watch it but my bodily focus is not on my face, or my mouth, its much further down. He pulls himself out roughly, the wet pop is lewd and when he sits back I can see blood on his dick, coating it.

He notices it as well, stands and disappears from the room for a moment. I lie pinned, I can't find the connection to my own limbs to make them move and he's back before I do make any progress.

He presses a damp cloth between my legs, wiping my hole thoroughly a few times before taking it away and replacing it with a new one, this one dry.

He doesn't look at me as he stands again, collecting his clothes from the floor. He just quietly walks out and closes the door.

I start sobbing.


	12. Chapter 12

I wake up slowly, my eyes burning, my head pounding and my body throbbing in a variety of places. Evidently at some point my brain had decided to screw consciousness and yank me under, probably for self-preservation.

I feel disgusting, filthy with shame and what he left on me, and I want to stand underneath a stream of hot water so badly it hurts, to wash it away. But I know I can't do that with my brain, there is no amount of scrubbing taking this away.

I listen to the rest of the cabin, trying to pinpoint his location but its quiet, eerily so.

My breathing picks up, what if he left me here to die?

There is light around the curtain, it's day, I wonder vaguely how long I was out.

My arms and hands have gone numb again, but I try moving them, pulling to find a little purchase to get away from the bed at least, but they hold firm, the bed frame screaming in protest as I tug.

A chair moves out in the kitchen, and I knows he's heard me. My throat gets tight and terror runs down my spine as he gets closer, his gait as even as always.

The door scrapes on the floor as he opens it, and he stands for a minute just staring at me blankly while I squirm and try to make myself small despite the agony it's causing me.

He's dressed again, in jeans and a shirt with a button down long sleeved plaid shirt on top. He also has his shoes on.

For one split second I wonder if he's going to take me home, but I know rationally that isn't likely.

"I need to go get supplies. But I thought you would like to shower first."

His voice is matter of fact, just giving me the details.

He steps forward and pulls a key from his pocket, undoing the cuffs but keeping holding of at least one of my wrists, I tug at it weakly, feeling vile having him just near me again.

He grabs my other wrist when they are both free and pulls me straight up to my feet beside the bed, my head starts swimming violently but he doesn't let me adjust this time, just pulls me down the hall to the small door. I can feel fluid running down my thighs as we go, I assume I'm bleeding again.

He shoves me in the door, slamming it closed behind him and locking it without even looking at me again.

A part of my brain is wondering how he can be so ashamed of me when he's the one who did this to me.

Shaking, I pull the curtain open on the tub a little bit, enough to reach the taps. No matter the reason he wants me to do this, I really want the shower.

A fresh bar of soap is on the side of the tub and a clean towel on the back of the toilet, I guess that's something.

I wait until the water is hot, filling the room with steam, before I pull myself over the edge, pain blinding me for a second. The water is too hot, I know it is, but I don't care. I relish in the burn for a few minutes as it turns my skin red with heat.

I take my time washing, scrubbing my skin even more raw. I pull the bandage off my forehead and try to gently wash that mess.

I leave my ass for last, traces of pink water turn more red as I start scrubbing. It hurts so badly, the sting like a thousand needles, I have to stop after a few minutes, take a break before starting again. All at once I can feel him again, inside of me, and I lurch forward, throwing up bile in the tub. Weakness rushing over me I fall down onto my knees, the water pounding my back. Stars dance in my vision, and all I can do is close my eyes and try to breathe.

I vaguely hear the key in the lock on the door, and feel the rush of cool air as he opens it. He pulls back the curtain and shuts off the water before touching me, his hands firm on my waist as he starts lifting me out of the tub. I hear myself whimper, and try to squirm to get away, and I succeed at first, landing hard back in the tub, my injured shoulder digging into the edge and I release a strangled cry and the pain shoots through me, like the licks of a flame.

"Cas, stop, I'm trying to help you." His voice is full of concern, panic and I feel his hands on my waist again.

All at once I'm furious.

"Help me?!? You did this to me you..." I break off, seething and breathing through my teeth.

It's silent for a few seconds in the bathroom, his hands don't move, but they don't tighten either.

"Cas," his voice sounds choked, full of emotion. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you..."

"So why did you then?" My voice sounds foreign to me, fury gone just as fast as it came, now it's even, deep, resigned, like I'm asking him about his stock portfolio rather than why he raped me.

I hear him take a shaky breath, and he sniffles. I feel nothing for his emotional suffering, and I know I shouldn't.

"I was angry, I don't see straight when I'm mad..."

I force myself to look up at him, look straight in his eye.

"That is no excuse."

With every ounce of strength I have, using the sides of the tub, I get myself standing and step over the edge. His hands fall away from me, not reaching anymore and he doesn't move, just sits in a puddle of water, knees soaked while I grab the towel and wrap it around myself. I head out of the bathroom, intending at first just to go back to the bedroom, find my pants but it hits me suddenly. I'm free right now. Pants or no pants, his fucking car keys are sitting right there by the door. The door that is unlocked.

I jolt forward on the balls of my feet, sweeping up the keys in one motion while wrapping my hand around the handle with the other. The cold air slams into me like a wall as I go out, I'm still soaking wet and running in freshly fallen snow in bare feet isn't the best plan, but right now I don't care.

I feel him behind me before I hear or see him, but I push on, I have the head start this time. I get to the car, wrench the door open and almost dive in. He reaches me, his hands grip my waist, the towel falling away, and this time without gentle care, he drags me back out. Thrashing as hard as I can, I try to dislodge his grip, but he gets his arms around me, holding my back against his chest and pushes the front of my body against the car, pinning me in place against the icy metal.

"These little mind fucks of yours, they need to stop." He growls at me.

He pulls me back and slams me into the car. The frozen surface on my bare wet skin burns and my hips throb and I squeak in pain.

"I should teach you a lesson, right here, right now."

He presses his crotch against my ass and I can feel his erection pushing against me.

No no no no, my mind starts screaming, I can't endure that again.

"Please.. Please no.."

"Oh now you wanna beg, want me to be nice to you, despite what you just did."

He pushes his chest against my back harder, making it hard for me to breath and holds my left arm over the top of the car, pinning it in place. I feel his free hand move behind me and I hear his belt buckle as he undoes it, and then his zipper and I stifle a sob.

I feel his cock sliding against my wet ass, pushing in between the flesh and then against my sore hole.

"Sorry I don't have the lube handy this time" he laughs into my ear before he thrusts forward and I scream as he rips me open again, and each time he moves. He pounds into me, slamming my body against the car and I feel limp, his body, his dick inside me is the only thing keeping me standing.

He moans in my ear, whispering my name over and over while I cry in pain, the volume of his voice rising the closer he gets to coming. I wait for him to finish, hope that it won't take long, and when he finally does, I feel every movement, every part of his release coating me inside and the bile rushes up my throat. I push back away from the car and turn just in time and throw up in the snow. He pulls away quickly, ripping out of my body and lets me drop on the ground on my hands and knees.

He watches me, saying nothing, just waiting. The warm fluid running down my thighs is a stark contrast to the ice and snow under my hands. For a few moments I cant breathe from gagging and coughing. When I finally stop and sag against the car, my knees aching from the cold and my throat burning from the acid, he finally reaches down and pulls me back up, dragging me with a strong arm around my chest back into the cabin, away from my freedom.

He throws me back into the bathtub and cranks on the water, this time taking the soap and scrubbing me, removing the blood and semen coating my ass and down my legs.

I lie there weak, unable to do more except cry softly, mind begging for my aunt, for my mother, someone to come save me. He forces warm water into my mouth, making me rinse and spit a few times and I cough but have no energy to stop him.

When he's done he hauls me back out, his pants still undone, blood covered dick hanging limp now and roughly runs a towel over me while I struggle to keep standing, leaning heavily on the sink and he has to grab me a few times as I threaten to slump down.

Grabbing my wrists he pulls me back into the bedroom, where I notice he's changed the linens and pushes me down on it, cuffing my hands above me as usual.

I try to make him look me in the eye, make him see what he's doing, but he avoids it. Once I'm down and restrained he looks at me for a moment, not my face, but my chest, then my naked body and reaches down and pulls the quilt up to my chin, to cover me.

I can't discern if this is done out of kindness, to keep me warm, or if it is because he can't stand to look at me, what he's done to me, the bruises, cuts and marks crossing my skin.

He says nothing when he's done, just turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Moments later I hear the shower turn on and I pray for unconsciousness again.


	13. Chapter 13

I drift in and out, wanting to give in, but too much on edge to really do so. At some point he finishes showering, and I hear him go out the front door and the engine turn over. I listen as the tires squeak and crackle over the snow. I'm sure fresh snow will come soon enough to cover my blood and vomit out there.

I wake with a jolt when I hear the engine coming back close and the door slamming, then the back car door slamming. He clatters in the front door, I hear the rustle of paper bags. I guess he went for supplies after all.

I stay silent, hoping he will think I'm still asleep. The light in the room above me is off and what is coming in around the window is purple. I realize with a shock that this is my third night here. I've been missing for two whole days. Jason made it two weeks. Two weeks of this hell.

The familiar thump of his boots on the floor comes near and the door scrapes on the wood as usual, letting in light behind him, he looks like a black shadow looming before me and my breathing picks up speed.

He comes to the side of the bed, reaches up and unlocks my right wrist, holding my left one firmly, but not painfully and slides his other hand between my shoulders, helping me sit up. Clearly he just assumed i was awake.

Once I'm sitting up, my feet getting cold on the floor and my ass throbbing, he sits next to me, idly rubbing my back and waiting while I breathe through the dizziness.

"I want to start over. I didn't know it would go this way with you, that I wouldn't be able to control myself."

I startle at his voice and look at him. His face is warm, friendly, like the first Dean I met.

He sighs deeply, and forces a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"You are different, what I feel for you is different than Jason, I didn't really even want him, left him locked in the basement for almost the full two weeks and didn't lay a hand on him until two days before he got himself killed."

I want so badly to retort that that is not the way it happened, but I know better at this point. Though my mind spins. Jason only endured the torture for two days himself, not the full two weeks. Why does that make me feel better? Because it means he suffered less? The poor bastard is still dead. Or is it because in some sick way I feel good about outlasting him.

I am losing my mind.

Dean ignores whatever is playing out on my face and carries on.

"I was going to let him go, but he looked so much like you, I figured if I couldn't have you, he was a good replacement, except he wasn't. I shouldn't have hurt him I know, and I know you are thinking that, I know you think I'm insane, but Cas I love you, I have since the first time I saw you in that stupid trenchcoat, your hair sticking out everywhere and those bright blue eyes, you just sucked me right in. It's taken me this long just to work up the nerve to talk to you, and look at all the wrong I've done."

He stops, and once again I have to bite my tongue not to start listing all the horrible shit he's done to me.

Clearly not saying anything is my best strategy.

"So, I want to apologize, for everything and start over. I meant it when I said I don't want to hurt you, but I need you to stop making me."

Mouth closed Cas. Keep it shut.

His eyes search my face, looking for a response. I have to give some acknowledgement but I don't trust my mouth, so instead I nod, figuring if I play along he might not toss me down and rape me again.

He smiles at me when I say yes, his shoulders relax in relief.

"Are you hungry, I picked up some grub, I was worried about you getting sick, you haven't been eating," seeing my expression he stops, eyebrow up. "Yes, I know why you got sick, I don't blame you, but you need to get something back into your body, help get your strength back."

Does this mean you won't rape me for at least 24 hours? The question runs through my head, but I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying it.

He slides his arm around my back and helps me up.

"I bought you something, it's in the kitchen though."

I'm seriously hoping it's some pants, maybe a gun.

My first wish is close, it's a velour robe, which he helps me slip on and ties at the waist for me. While I'm not thrilled at accepting stuff from him, being covered and warm is a nice trade off. He's also bought me matching slippers. I feel like Hugh Hefner in hell.

He smiles at me when he's done dressing me and guides me to a kitchen chair. He cuffs my left arm to the chair again, despite our earlier discussion about starting over, clearly he doesn't trust me not to run. Can't say I blame him, I have considered it, but I'd prefer to avoid a repeat of what he did to me outside last time I ran. If I'm going to get away, I'm going to have to be more careful about it, try to gain his trust and not just bolt every time I see a chance, since the score is currently 2 for Dean and 0 for me on those attempts.

He moves around the kitchen noisily, pulling cartons from a paper bag, but not saying much.

He pulls a bowl out of the cupboard and pours some soup into it, and sets it in front of me with a spoon, hand squeezing my good shoulder in a friendly way while my skin crawls underneath. The soup smells good, some sort of chicken noodle.

"Better than Gino's soup," he laughs, watching me as I examine the bowl in front of me. I try to smile, try to make it genuine and hope it convinces him.

"Do you want me to turn the TV on?" He asks, already heading towards it. I nod when he looks at me and he pushes the on button. The room is filled immediately with the sound of Jody's voice, giving an update on the progress of the search for me.

"We've expanded our search to include all neighbouring states and officers are on the ground checking every potential lead. We ask that the public keep vigilant, watch their surroundings, vacant buildings and homes for any suspicious activity.." Dean flips the TV off again, angrily.

I want desperately for him to turn it back on again, want to know if they are any closer to finding me, but I don't dare ask for that. The silence stretches quickly in the room, I need to distract him, bring him back to congenial.

"What... What time is it?" I ask, my voice small.

He spins and stares at me hard.

"Why? Somewhere important to be."

I feel myself shrinking in the chair, think Castiel think.

"Um.. It's just... If it's close to 7, Jeopardy will be coming on."

He jerks back slightly with shock, and a few seconds later a huge grin crosses his face. I did it, I think I calmed him down.

"Why am I not even surprised in the least that you watch that." He laughs, but it isn't a mean laugh, and I force another smile, like I'm sharing the joke with him.

I shrug my good shoulder quickly.

"I don't know, I just like to feel smarter than the people on there."

He starts laughing harder, shaking his head.

"You are unreal, but I guess that's why I love you, what channel?"

I cringe when he says he loves me, I don't like hearing it, but I need to exploit it. Thankfully he's looking back at the TV when I do, and misses it.

I tell him the station and he quickly flips over, Jody's face frozen in the screen for a moment, replaced by Pat Sajak and the end of Wheel of Fortune.

He comes back into the kitchen area, pulling more boxes from bags and sits down beside me at the table with what looks like fried chicken and French fries.

He starts eating quietly, but notices I haven't touched the soup yet.

"Do you not like it?"

It smells delicious and my stomach growls in protest that I'm not eating it yet, but I have one problem, he's cuffed my usable arm. The swelling in my right shoulder is painful to say the least, and makes lifting my arm higher than three inches impossible.

I demonstrate this for him, uneasy of his reaction. He watches, his chin moving in silent speech as he realizes why and remorse takes hold of his eyes.

"Oh shit Cas, I'm so sorry."

"It's ok," I try to brush it off despite how I actually feel.

He jumps out of his chair and uncuffs my left hand, and moves the restraint over to my right one.

He looks at me questioningly, as if asking if this is ok with me. I force a smile and pick up the spoon with my good hand, taking a sip of the soup and he visibly relaxes.

The familiar theme song to Jeopardy fills the room and we both turn back to the TV. I keep sipping at the soup. I'm hungry, but don't want to push it, at the same time, I need it to help me regain some strength.

I try to lose myself in the game, create tunnel vision as a respite from my reality.

I know all the answers as usual and at the second commercial, when the spell is broken for a few moments, I hear Dean chuckling beside me.

"Holy shit you really are smarter than the contestants."

The issue with living alone with a cat is that at some point you stop hearing it when to talk out loud to yourself, or the cat, as the case may be.

I feel heat creep into my cheeks as I realize I have been saying the answers all along with the TV without even realizing it. I really did think I was only hearing it in my head.

It's ludicrous too that I am embarrassed about something like this, in the situation I'm sitting in right now.

The commercial ends and I carry on, purposely saying it out loud now, because it's something I am, smart, and if he wants to laugh at me about it, then fine. It's better than being a rapist and murderer.

When I've answered the final jeopardy question, Dean takes the dishes and loads them into the sink and cleans up around the kitchen.

"Why haven't you ever tried out to be a contestant on the show? Seems like an easy way for you to make a lot of money."

"I'm not good with crowds of people focused on me, I would probably freeze up, forget everything." I state matter of factly.

He considers me for a moment.

"Well someday maybe..." He starts, doesn't finish. We both know I'm not leaving this cabin alive, there is no someday. The silence stretches and tension fills the room.

He finishes collecting the garbage and takes it outside, the cold blast of air from the front door opening raises goose flesh on my legs, but I stay still. In the short time I have alone I examine the chair I'm attached to, how strong it is, if I could break the arm. But it's solid oak, I'm not getting out of it easily.

He comes back in, brushing snow off his shoulder and rubs his hands together.

"Wanna watch a movie?" His tone is light, moving us forward from the whole 'he's going to kill me' vibe.

I nod, not wanting to go against him, and he comes and opens the cuff on the arm of the chair and then he helps me to the couch. His hands are firm on me, both supportive of my weight and restraining, once again he's worried I'll try to run.

He helps me sit on the couch, which is more of a futon with wrought iron supports at either end, perfect for the average kidnapper to restrain their captive to.

He cuffs me to the top of the frame which serves as the arm rest and sits down at the other end. I'm grateful for the distance, as every time he touches me, my stomach threatens to force the soup back out.

He flicks around the stations for a few minutes, searching. I catch snippets of news reports, short glimpses of my own face and Deans. But he never lingers long enough for me to hear or see anything of any real substance and I have to fight to keep my face from looking too interested in the reports.

He finally finds a movie, something violent with a lot of car chases. I try to follow it, use it as another form of escape, but it doesn't hold my attention well. I realize how exhausted I am, despite everything. I can feel him looking at me every few minutes, but I do my best to ignore him.

I sink down in my small corner of the couch, avoiding touching him and soon my eyes start sliding closed.


	14. Chapter 14

Two things pull me out of unconsciousness. First, the sun, piercing its way through my eyelids, insistent and painful. The second is agony, rippling through my shoulder.

Then I notice a third thing, a warm body pressed up against mine from behind with a solid arm wrapping around me, hand just below my chin and a nose against the back of my neck, his warm breath tickling down my spine.

I'm lying on my right side, which explains why my shoulder is hurting so much and Dean is cuddled up behind me, his body pressed full length against mine. I can feel his dick, half hard lying on the back of my thigh and I shudder.

Clearly he's naked, but I still have the robe on, it's only risen up enough to allow me to have that nasty reminder but thankfully doesn't seem to be far enough so it's resting against my ass.

My movement of disgust seems to rouse him and his hold tightens around me and I do my best to hide a gasp of pain.

"Morning baby," his voice is low, gruff with sleep and he moves behind me, rubbing his dick more on my thigh, and I feel it getting harder and panic shoots through me, my body going tense.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, I told you I wouldn't hurt you again."

Clearly this does not include not raping me again, his definition of hurting me is vastly different than mine.

He presses a kiss to the back of my neck and nuzzles the hairs there, breathing in deep while the hand on my chest snakes it's way into the robe, caressing my skin, and he rubs a thumb over my nipple idly. My eyes open now I can see he's moved the curtain, though the window is foggy with dirt, it lets a lot more light in and I stare at it hard, wanting nothing more than to dive through it right now.

He hums behind me, moving to place kisses behind my ear, and then below it before sucking on my earlobe slightly.

My body recoils from the touch, and I start to squirm, trying to get away but his grip tightens, a strangled noise coming from my throat.

"Shhhh Cas, it's ok, I know I hurt you before, but I promise you it's going to be better now, I will make it better for you."

Fat fucking chance asshole.

He jerks his hips forward slightly, pressing his dick between my thighs, and establishes a slow rhythm and my stomach clenches.

The hand on my chest moves lower, untying the belt around my waist and then he presses his palm against my belly, his hand hot, pulling me even closer to him.

I struggle harder, body tense, trying to pull away, my shoulder shrieking in pain, making me pant with the effort.

He chuckles behind me, clearly mistaking my breathing pattern for one of pleasure versus what it really is, the product of horror.

The hand on my belly slides lower, wrapping around my dick, stroking it slowly, he runs his thumb over the tip and my stomach clenches. I'm grateful that my body chooses to ignore his attempts at getting me aroused, the last thing I want is for him to feel encouraged.

He is less pleased with this however, his hand starts moving more insistently, stroking in different ways, fingers teasing around while I continue to struggle.

"Come on baby, relax, it'll get better if you just relax."

The jerking of his hips picks up speed, his dick moving closer to my ass and I try to jerk myself forward, off the bed and away from him, but his arm closes around me, holding me against him tight, painfully.

"Cas, you promised we'd start over, why are you fighting me so much, I told you, I won't hurt you."

Mind thinking fast, I know I need to make sure he doesn't get angry, because that never ends well for me.

"My shoulder..." I pant out. "I'm on my shoulder, you're on my shoulder."

He stops moving entirely, dick still wedged almost in my crotch and his hold around my chest loosens slightly.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

He pulls away, releasing me except for a hand still on my waist, which he uses to pull me onto my back. His face is full of worry as he looks down on me, leaning on his elbow, crowding into me. I lie panting hard from the pain and fear.

He moves closer, throws a leg over mine, starting to move between my legs and on top of me but I put my left arm and hand up, stopping his progress.

"Dean please," I beg softly.

A flash of anger goes across his face, and it sends a chill down my back, but he relaxes again quickly, pulling back, though still keeping contact, his thigh against mine.

"Ok, we will go slower, just lie back and relax, let me take care of you."

No, no that is not what I meant when I said stop. Stop means stop, not go slower and take care of me.

His hand comes back up again, separating the robe further, exposing me fully and his fingers tease across my chest and down my belly again and I tense, my skin crawling, body squirming, I start trying to edge away from him, to the side of the bed, but he follows, keeping contact.

"Shhh, just relax." He says softly, eyes watching his own hand as it traces down my body.

I feel tears filling my eyes, never in my life had I thought something this horrific could happen to me, and I'm stuck here, I can't get away and I can't stop him. My body is no longer my own, and never will be after what he's done to me.

I swallow hard to stop from starting to cry full on, because I know that would not go over well, but my throat is tight with the emotion and for now he seems oblivious to it.

His hand retaking position on my dick he starts stroking again, and I have to swallow hard not to throw up. His fingers trace lightly up the underside and back down again before cupping my balls and gently squeezing. He watches his hand for a few moments, mesmerized with what it's doing to me. He gets a little more insistent though, clearly frustrated that I'm not hard, not even remotely and his hand becomes less gentle.

His warm breath crosses my chest as he moves his head down to place soft kisses on my pale skin. His tongue darts out and traces around my nipple, pulling it up into a hardened bud and a ripple goes through my body, my heart races in fear, I do not want to enjoy this, I can't.

His leg moves across mine again, and then he shifts his hips, hand releasing my dick and his body moves between my legs before I can even think of stopping him, his hard cock lining up with my soft one on my stomach.

He slides against me for a few minutes, mouth lining up with mine and tongue sliding in, tracing around. I fight the urge to gag. My hands weakly push at his shoulders and hips, trying to get him off of me, but I get no where, he just pushes down harder, and my hips throb at his weight pushing them open again.

I hear movement beside me, the drawer of the table opening and my body goes stock still, ice in my veins. He feels this and stops kissing me, and looks down at me, a small smile on his lips.

"Cas, relax baby, I'm not gonna hurt you."

His hand moves around the drawer for a moment before it comes back with the bottle and he lifts one hip off of mine, sliding slicked fingers down between my legs and my eyes shut tight.

One would think I would know by now that just because I can't see what he's doing, doesn't mean I can't feel it.

His fingers trace around my ass, making the cuts already there sting, but they are more gentle than he was the first time, taking his time before pressing the first one in, and only pushing it in a little bit at a time.

I whimper at the intrusion and the accompanying burn.

"Shhh, just focus on relaxing, trust me, it'll make it better."

I don't trust you as far as I can fucking throw you. I bite my tongue to stop from saying anything, I can't anger him. I also can't stop him, that thought hurts the most. I'm weak, I can't prevent him from doing these horrific things to me, and I fought so hard the first time, I won then. What is my aunt going to think when they find my body, knows the disgusting things he did to me, that I didn't stop him from doing.

A second finger pushing in interrupts my thought and I actually do gag this time. He hears it, his fingers stop moving for a moment and I can feel him staring at me but when I make no other noise he carries on. Evidently he decided the possibility of me puking isn't imminent enough to stop.

He bends his fingers towards the front of my body, pressing around painfully, as though he's looking for something, and my legs jerk at the feeling, instinctively trying to close, to get him out.

He huffs a noise of frustration, pulling his fingers back out and pushes three back in.

His mouth finds mine again as he rhythmically pushes in and out of my body, spreading his fingers to stretch me and my legs jerk of their own will.

His hips buck against me, sliding his dick against my abdomen and he shudders with pleasure, tongue diving back into my mouth in the same rhythm as his fingers.

He takes longer with his hand this time, far longer than the first time and I find myself silently wishing he'd just hurry up and get it over with, the time passing is agonizing and I feel more degraded with each passing minute. It sickens me that in three days I have gone from fighting him with all my might to almost just letting him do what he wants now. But he's already done it, been inside me, stolen my innocence, what's left really to fight for?

When he finally pulls his fingers out and picks up the bottle of lube to coat himself, I lie like dead weight on the bed, a new strategy. Maybe if I'm less reactive, trying to fight him, and just lie here like a corpse, it'll take some of the fun out of it for him.

He doesn't notice, at least makes no sign he does, just merrily lubes himself up, using more than is probably necessary, as though that makes up for the dry fuck outside by the car, and the excess drips off his dick onto my stomach before he slides it down between my legs, leaving a slick trail behind. My stomach threatens to empty again.

I open and close my eyes, watching is not what I want to do, but every time I close them, the feel of his touch intensifies. I finally focus on a large patch of brown water damage on the ceiling, the edges black with mould.

He lines himself up, and I whimper, knowing the coming pain.

When he pushes the head of his dick in, I wince, eyes slamming shut again, and when he keeps pushing, my whimper gets louder.

This stops him for a second, so much for not hurting me. Maybe I should be more vocal about how much it hurts, show him he's doing a shitty job of making it pain free. Asshole.

He pushes more, entering me entirely and a tear snakes down my temple. I can feel my bottom lip quivering from the force of trying not to cry and he kisses me gently, almost tenderly.

His lips trace a line down my jaw to my throat and I feel vulnerable, like an animal about to be devoured by a lion. His beard, not shaved in a few days, tickles the delicate skin below my jaw and I shudder suddenly from the sensation, feeling immediately repulsed that he found a way to get a reaction from me.

I feel his lips curve into a smile below my ear.

"Well, well, it seems I may have found something you like finally." His voice is deep, thick with desire and he shifts his cheek slightly, trying to duplicate what he did to get the same reaction from me.

But his movements are too rough now, his beard more of a scratch than a tickle done accidentally and any pleasure I had is gone immediately.

This is a relief for me, but a source of annoyance for him.

He snaps his hips forward suddenly and I cry out in pain and shock.

"Why. Are. You. Still. Fighting?" He states, his voice now deepened with fury.

My breathing picks up speed, I needed to keep him from getting angry, and it's not working.

I don't have a response to his question, fear gripping me, knowing what he can do to me.

He snaps his hips again and my head goes back, a short scream makes my throat burn.

"If that's the only way I can make you scream, then that's how it's going to be."

My hands come up, trying desperately to dislodge him, but my right arm is still too weak and his fury makes him stronger. He grabs my wrists, forcing them up and holds them above my head as he starts pounding into me relentlessly. His eyes stare down at me, cold and angry and I close mine to get away from them, sobbing openly now between strained cries of pain on each thrust.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" He screams at me, his breath hot on my face.

I force them open, tears spilling out the sides. He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop slamming into me, harder than he ever has before and the bed screams in protest along with me, headboard ramming into the wall.

"You are mine Cas. MINE!"

"Please stop... Please.. Please stop." I choke the words out, I can't even breathe, but he doesn't stop, takes pleasure in my begging until he throws his head back, guttural yell coming from his throat as he comes inside of me.

When he's done, he rests his forehead on mine, ignoring my crying entirely, keeping his iron grip on my wrists, his dick pressed fully inside me.

"I will make you want me, one way or another, you might as well stop fighting."

I look up at his eyes, which glare down at me, his voice full of thinly veiled fury and determination.

"I will never want you." I state it softly, just simply giving him the truth. I would rather he killed me right now then live here any longer, have him do this to me again and again. My mind and body are spent, my ability to continue suffering gone.

I know he can see this, his expression changes immediately to one of his own horror. He knows now I would rather die than stay with him.

He starts scrambling to get off of me, get away, pulling from me roughly and leaving the room fast.

I lie panting, trying to catch my breath.

It takes me a minute to realize I'm not tied down, not restrained at all.

I listen hard for him, trying to discern his location in the cabin and can hear his bare feet on the floor in the living room, it sounds like he's pacing.

The lube and semen are slowly cooling and drying on my stomach and thighs, the reminder and feeling brings a wash of nausea over me and I quickly roll to the side, pushing myself up despite the weakness in my legs and hips. I manage to get standing alone, and limp as fast as I can to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me in childish emphasis and collapse on my knees in front of the toilet, retching hard several times, emptying my stomach, the meager amount I had in me gone in a few short moments.

When I stop coughing for a few minutes, I hear movement outside the door, his feet shuffling on the wood and wait to see if he's going to come in, but he stays on the other side, pacing again.

Using the sink, I get myself standing again, and turn to the tub, getting the hot water running. I need to wash him off of me, I need him gone.

I slide the robe off my shoulders, letting it drop on the floor and crawl into the tub, kneeling in the bottom since I know I can't stand for very long. I scrub my skin violently, weeping as I do until I'm too weak to continue and collapse down, my forehead on my knees.

I think of my aunts face, remember her smile and I sob. I try to remember my parents faces, from when I saw them, not just in pictures. I remember the night they died, they were going for dinner for their anniversary, they both kissed me on the forehead as they left, my moms eyes twinkling with happiness and excitement. She'd wanted to try that restaurant for years, but it was so expensive, they had to wait. My dad saved up the money for a year, enough to buy her a new dress and let her order whatever she wanted.

They didn't make it there. Someone else had started their evening earlier and decided to drive home drunk. My mom was killed instantly.

Maybe it's better they're dead, they won't see this, won't know what happened to me. What he did to me.

I'm not someone who's really considered the afterlife, will I see my parents again when he kills me? How will I explain why I'm there way too early?

I cry harder, jagged sobs that I can't control. The door to the bathroom opens, he comes in quietly, shuts the water off again and gently pulls me from the tub to the floor. His arms wrap around me, comforting me and it takes me a minute to realize he's crying too.

"Cas, I'm so sorry baby, I'm so sorry!"

I want to fight him, fight his arms around me, they are wrong for this moment, but I'm too weak. Blackness tinges the edges of my vision and I know I'm probably going to pass out.

He starts rocking me, clearly oblivious to my body getting limp.

Finally, mercifully, the blackness takes over.


	15. Chapter 15

The roar of an engine wakes me suddenly. The room is dark, cold and I shiver, sending a wave of pain down my body. I'm on the bed again, quilt over me, but it's not enough to keep the cold out.

The front door slams and I hear his heavy boots on the floor, and paper bags crinkling.

He hasn't bothered covering the window again, the night is an inky black, void of any moonlight or stars. I suspect it's snowing.

My eyes feel scratchy and swollen from crying and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. My throat is so dry it's difficult to swallow.

Despite the protest in my legs and body and throb in my ass I force myself to sit up on the edge of the bed. I don't see the robe anywhere near me, I assume its dirty, stained with my blood and his semen.

I listen for a few moments to his movements, cupboards opening and closing, the soft noise of voices from the TV, his own voice, humming some song quietly. His ability to change moods, shift from one situation to another is astounding to me. Then again, I already knew that about him, saw it first hand at the bar when he caved that guys head in.

When was that? Was that less than a week ago? What day is it today? My brain scrambles, trying to remember how long I've been here. This is night number four, he took me on Tuesday night, so it is now Friday night, exactly one week from that night at the bar. So much has happened in that time, I can barely process it. It feels longer, somehow, like every minute is an hour, and the worst part is I can't see an end. How this stops, depends entirely on him.

I look down at my hands, idly rubbing my sore wrists and realize with a shock that I'm not cuffed to the bed. I'm free.

Is he letting me go? Or does he know I won't make it far. Or did he just assume I would still be out cold until he got home.

Well, I want water, I might as well go get some, I sort of want to test him, see what he does.

Pushing myself up, my shaking legs threatening to let me hit the floor, I pull the quilt around my shoulders and start shuffling towards the door. I know he's heard me, the bed sounds like a damn siren every time I move, but he hasn't made a move towards me, or even stopped humming.

I shuffle slowly down the hallway, every step fraught with pain and I have to stabilize myself on the wall. With each step, each reminder of the pain he inflicted on me, I can feel my anger towards him growing.

How dare he think he can do this to me? Use my body like this? How dare he even touch me?

By the time I get to the kitchen, I'm in full glare mode, and bore my eyes into the back of his head as he stands at the counter, mixing something in a pot on the stove.

He turns and looks at me as I get to the sink, and seems a little startled at the cold look I throw him. I purposely turn and ignore him, grabbing the glass at the side of the sink and fill it with cool water, drinking it quickly, feeling it settle in my stomach like lead I refill and drink the second glass slowly. My energy already ebbing away, it's difficult to keep my anger up, and diffidence starts to take over. I can feel him watching me, eyes worried and full of shame, but I continue to ignore him, turning instead to the TV. He's got a news station on, and I'm surprised he hasn't changed it.

A female reporter is on screen, standing on a dark street that I recognize as being in front of my house. The lights are off, and my throat starts to close, anger being replaced by grief.

"Police were back at the home of Dean Winchester today, removing more boxes of evidence in the search for missing man Castiel Novak. They remain tight lipped about what they have discovered but have said they are receiving numerous tips and calls that they are following up on. Employees at Plastics Incorporated are holding a vigil tonight at the home of the missing 31 year old man, who vanished in the middle of the night on Tuesday from the home of his Aunt Shelly Cuthbert in Milwaukee. Police are not commenting on reports that a body matching that of Castiel Novak was found this morning near the same spot Jason Singer was found two years ago. Castiels Aunt remains hopeful her nephew is still alive and will join the vigil tonight, which as you can see is growing quickly behind me."

Behind the reporter, soft flickering lights had slowly been amassing and it's not until she moves and the camera focuses on them that I see people, holding candles, gathering on my front lawn and driveway. A pile of flowers and signs and cards are on my front porch and spilling down the steps and I can see Jo and Ellen, Gabriel, Bill, my neighbours, Aunt and many others all gathered, faces solemn as they all meet in prayer for my safety, several of them swiping tears from their cheeks. The snow falls slowly around them, blanketing the scene in white and the flakes twinkle in the candelight, like stars flaring and then dying.

I pull in a shaky breath, and hear him move beside me. He steps towards the TV and changes the station to the game show network, the familiar Jeopardy theme song fills the room and he turns and looks at me expectantly, looking down sadly after a moment.

"A lot of people love you it seems." He says quietly. I don't have a response, I want to beg for him to let me go, but I know it won't do any good. Instead we stand in silence as Alex Trebek introduces the contestants, and then explains the rules of the game and announces the categories. A contestant named Philip selects the first clue, the first answer is read out and without even thinking I answer it before any of them do, eyes fixed on the blackened stone above the fireplace, but not really seeing it. Those people care about me, care that I'm missing. They haven't given up hope and neither should I. I was ready to die this morning, but I'm not now. Maybe that's why he let me see that, I don't know, but if that was his intention, it worked. Now I just have to figure out how to stay alive, get out of here, get home. I just wish I knew how, the lack of a light at the end of this tunnel makes it very difficult to summon any hope.

His head snaps up when I start speaking, giving all of the answers in a level voice despite the turmoil in my mind. I watch him peripherally, a learned instinct to watch the hunter as he circles his prey I guess. His shoulders drop, relaxing and he comes towards me, slides his arms around my waist and holds me tight against him. I don't reciprocate, just stand straight, waiting for him to let go, or do what ever he's going to do.

"I'm sorry Cas, I'm so sorry for this morning."

He rests his chin on my shoulder, continues to embrace me, and doesn't seem bothered that I'm just standing still, arms at my sides, one hand still holding the glass of water awkwardly at the side. I keep answering questions. I sort of sound like Rain Man.

He lifts his head up after a few minutes, a small smile on his lips, clearly amused again by my thing with this show, he doesn't seem to realize I'm only doing it now to distract myself.

When a commercial comes on he kisses me lazily, tongue running along my bottom lip and in my mouth. I can taste the ever present whiskey on his breath, wonder idly how much he drinks and am half tempted to ask him for some. Alcoholic oblivion might be nice.

He pulls the quilt off my shoulders, slides it out of my hand holding it, my right hand, lacking any strength to stop him and it slides down to the floor. His mouth finds my neck, placing soft kisses along my jaw, his beard tickling in just the right way again, making me shudder. His fingers trace down my sides, a light touch and one hand slides the glass of water out of mine and puts it on the counter.

He breathes softly on my ear, gently brushing my neck again with his beard, making me shudder again, head tilting to the side to let him in without even meaning to and revulsion runs through me. I tense and try to slide away from him, down the counter, but he stops me quickly, putting his forehead against mine, hands gripping my waist tightly.

"Cas, relax, tonight isn't about me, it's about you. I'm not going to hurt you, I only want to make you feel good."

Panic blooming in my chest, I swallow hard and answer the next Jeopardy question, voice shaking more.

I can't do this, I don't want him to make me feel good, not after what he's done to me. I haven't been with anyone since college, my only girlfriend then being a very quiet girl, we only slept together a few times, pretty basic missionary position stuff. Since her, no one else has touched me and made me feel things and having him even near me is making me feel sick and horrified.

My skin crawls under his fingers, but he still persists, lips pressed against mine in a chaste kiss before trailing back down my throat, the soft hair on his cheek once again finding purchase and making my breath shaky for a different reason. I keep answering questions, desperate for a distraction.

His hands slide up my body, thumbs rubbing my nipples lazily, they betray me almost immediately.

He slides his mouth down to each one, running his tongue around each nub before sucking on them slightly. With increasing horror I realize I'm starting to get hard and I whimper between answers, feeling completely disgusted with myself. Tear snaking down my cheek I stare at the TV intensely, trying so hard to pull away from his hands and mouth on my body, but he keeps pulling me back, tongue in my belly button while his hand strokes me slowly, thumb running across the tip. I've held off for so long, every attempt he has made to turn me on, and it's not been too difficult because I don't want him, am horrified and repulsed by him, and I remember him from this morning, slamming into me so hard I thought he would break the bed, that he would break me in half. I can easily equate him with the man now on his knees in front me of me but I can't control my body, and I hate it.

He's clearly pleased however, having got me hard finally, he groans low in his chest as his hand continues up and down my shaft, tongue sweeping across the tip a few times and I swallow hard. Another tear drips down my cheek, this is my first blow job, this should be something amazing, not like this, not in this place or with this person.

The final Jeopardy question comes on and I answer just as he slides his mouth down, making my voice quiver and become breathy halfway through. I sob quietly once and shudder as he sucks me hard, pulling his mouth off slowly, swirling his tongue around the tip, his hand jerking me still in between movements by his mouth. His other hand finds my balls, tugging on them gently, making me gasp and a moan slips through my gritted teeth.

He slides his mouth down again, taking me all the way in and my eyes close tight, my hands moving to push him away but not connecting, I want him to stop but I don't.

He slides back again, sucking the entire way and my hips buck forward, body wanting the hot wet mouth back on me again. I snap them back to the counter, force them to stay put while he slides back down and up again.

A warmth starts to build, low in my belly and I know I'm getting close to coming and I feel the mounting shame building as well.

He starts to speed up slightly, his movements rhythmic, mouth meeting his hand and I find it impossible to control my hips. I start panting more loudly, another moan sliding out of my throat. I glance down at him, unable to stop myself from seeing and I can see his hand, palming his own erection through his jeans. His eyes slide up, meet mine, full of desire and I look away, ashamed and disgusted in myself for getting any pleasure from this, disgusted in my body for betraying me.

He slides me all the way into his mouth again, and swallows around me, the sensation is so intense I can't stop the sounds I make and he hums happily, vibrating his throat around me and I cry out even louder, mind going blank, focused solely on getting release.

He sucks me back down again and that's all it takes, body shuddering I come in his mouth, hips snapping forward and head thrown back in bliss for a few short moments.

He sucks my release from me, swallows it down, licking the tip for emphasis but I do not look down at him. I want to throw up, I hate myself, hate my body for what just happened and fresh tears fill my eyes as shame overwhelms me.

He puts his hands on the back of my knees, pulling forward, bending them and making me slide down until I am straddling his thighs and his hand latches on to the back of my head, forcing me to kiss him. I can still taste the whiskey, faintly, but more immediate in his mouth is a bitter flavour, the taste of my release and I start to gag.

I don't know if he notices, but he lifts me by my waist suddenly, sliding his knees out from under my ass and lowers me back down so I am kneeling and then he's standing up, crotch in my face, erection straining against his jeans only inches from my nose.

I realize in horror that he wants me to return the favour, and jolt back suddenly, head banging on the cupboard making stars dance in front of my eyes.

He reaches down, cups my cheek and forces me to look up at him.

"Come on Cas, it's only fair." His tone is laughing, like this is nothing, and it isn't to him, I know it's not.

He lets go of my cheek, and starts undoing his belt and then zipper. I try to dive to the left, to crawl away, but he grabs my hair fast, forcing me back, forcing his now free cock against my lips and I clamp my teeth closed.

The hand in my hair tightens and I whimper with the pain.

"Open up Cas." He commands, voice darker, the laugh gone.

He presses the tip of his cock against my lips again and I feel wetness, pre-cum dampening my mouth and I gag again, inadvertently opening my mouth and he takes the chance, pressing his cock in my mouth and almost to the back of my throat, a heavier gag hits me as his cock gets to the back of my throat and he stops moving. I feel like I can barely breath and I can smell soap and laundry detergent on him as well as taste that on his dick, mingling with a faint saltiness from his skin.

I consider sinking my teeth into him, injuring him, but my gagging wont let me, just makes my jaw open wider.

He moans loudly above me, pulling his dick out half way, my tongue shoving at it to push it out while my left hand flails, trying to push him away.

He slides back in and out again.

"Suck it Cas, suck it hard." He moans out.

I fight another gag as he slides it back in again, my teeth scrape along his skin as he does, my mind full of the screams I wish I would get out of my mouth.

His hips pick up speed slowly, pumping in and out of my mouth, lips being stretched too far, jaw aching.

"Oh fuck Cas, if you only knew how many times I fantasized about fucking that pretty mouth of yours." His words get cut off by another long moan, as I hollow my cheeks, sucking him hard and hoping I can get him off quicker, end this now.

His hips snap faster, losing rhythm, as he starts saying "oh fuck Cas, fuck baby" over and over again.

When he finally comes, the warm fluid splashing into my mouth, coating my tongue I choke and cough in the bitter taste.

"Clean me off." He states, hands gripping my hair painfully again, tone telling me its in my best interest not to argue and so I try my best to do as he says, fighting the urge to instead vomit on his cock.

Using my tongue, I slide it around on him, until I don't taste the bitter flavour anymore and he slides out, coming back down to the floor and kissing me hard.

Pushing my back against the cupboards painfully, he seems oblivious to the hiccuping and gagging coming me for a few moments until it gets worse. I can feel his come in my stomach somehow, the taste lingering at the back of my throat and my stomach heaves hard and I shove him back as hard as I can, and he doesn't fight me, just stands up and watches as I vomit water and semen on the floor twice.

His feet move away from me as I dry heave on my hands and knees on the floor. I hear him zip his pants back up.

Shaking from weakness and dizziness, he startles me when he plops a bucket and mop down beside me, the scent of industrial cleaner burning my nose.

"Clean up your mess."

He walks to the opposite counter, pours something into a glass and heads into the living room and sits on the couch.

Pushing myself back I lean against the counter with my eyes closed for a few moments. I can hear him flicking through the channels, his finger snapping the button on the remote in anger and I start to shake slightly. It's never good for me when he's angry.

Using the counter as an anchor, I pull myself up to standing and pick up the mop, almost knocking the bucket over in my clumsiness and fear. I swipe at the mess several times, making sure it's cleaned up entirely and start pulling the bucket towards the sink, where I discover that I am far to weak to lift it, instead it pulls me down to the floor, where I slump hard onto the cold linoleum, a whimper of pain knocked from me.

I hear him moving, but the room is spinning so much I can't see him coming.

"Cas?"

The bucket is moved away from me, arms wrap around my shoulders and under my legs and then I am airborne, moving through the room. We don't go far, before he lays me down on something, the couch I assume. The quilt is draped over me a few moments later. I feel his weight beside me as he sits down, his hand gently brushing across my forehead and down my cheek.

"Fuck, I'm sorry baby, I forgot how bad I hurt you this morning." His voice is gentle again, anger gone. He gets up and I hear him empty the bucket outside. Water runs into the kettle and I hear him put it on the stove and the sizzle of droplets being heated off the exterior.

Mugs hit the counter and I hear him getting spoons and shuffling other items around. The ringing in my ears diminishing and my head starting to clear a little, I watch him for a few moments, before flicking my eyes to the TV. He'd stopped on some made for TV movie, I don't know if it was intentional or not, or it just happened to be where he stopped flicking as I hit the floor. It's a local station, and I see the news alert pop up on the bottom.

BREAKING NEWS: Police reveal security camera footage of Dean Winchester taken this afternoon from a gas station near Milwaukee. Stay tuned for more details.

They saw him, the police are getting closer. He's still in the kitchen, stirring steaming mugs of tea, he hasn't seen the alert, and I really don't want him to. I'm terrified at what he will do if he does see it. Will he pack me up and move elsewhere? Or will he kill me and just take off? I can't risk him seeing it. Lifting my right arm, pain throbbing in my shoulder, I manage to wrap my fingers around the remote and drag it back to the couch without making any noise. Using my left hand, I change the channel quickly, trying to get to a station that is unlikely to have news alerts. I know at some point he's going to know, but I just need to keep it from him tonight, give the police the time to find us.

He comes back towards me, mug in each hand and looks at the TV casually, he heard me changing the stations, but he's not suspicious. I realize I've stopped on a movie, the Matrix it looks like and I pretend to be watching it with some interest.

He doesn't say anything, just sets the mugs down on the table and turns towards me, sliding his hands under my shoulders and sitting down so I have no choice but to rest my head on his lap. Frankly, thats the last damn thing I want to do right now. Though there are worse things he could do to me, I know that too well.

"I made you some chamomile tea, trying sipping at it when you feel up to it, it should help you feel better."

His fingers lightly comb through my hair, and I remain tense with the contact, despite my exhaustion.

We watch the movie for a while in silence, he never questions my choice. In fact, he seems happy with it, relaxed, and assured that I'm comfortable.

On a commercial he insists I sit up and sip some of the tea, and it does help, the warmth settling in my stomach in a pleasant way, calming the queasiness. My eyes start to droop soon after, and as much as I fight it, sleep overtakes me, all I can hope is that tomorrow this will all be over.


	16. Chapter 16

I wake with him wrapped like an octopus around me again, pulling me against his chest. We are face to face this time and still on the couch it seems, except he's tipped the back down on the futon, so it more of a bed now. The quilt is wrapped around me, and combined with his body heat I'm actually warm.

I notice the ticking sound of a clock in the room, and can hear cold wind in the fireplace. Dread trickles into my stomach. If the weather is bad, finding me just became that much more difficult.

Dean stirs slightly in his sleep, hugging me tighter for a moment, followed by a deep sigh. Getting away from him right now might be impossible. Craning my neck, I try to see out the window, but all I see is white light, it's hard to say what it's like.

I realize with some relief that he's still dressed, much better than yesterday. I want to get away from him, the scent of him surrounding me, a heady mixture of masculinity and whiskey that makes me shake in fear.

I try to slide under his arms, edge towards the side of the futon, but his arms tighten again and he mumbles slightly before his eyes start to open.

"What are you doing?" His voice is thick with sleep, but not angry, thank God.

"I, uh... I need to use the bathroom, I didn't want to wake you."

He smiles softly at me, leans forward and kisses my forehead.

"Ok, but I'll give you a hand, you were pretty unstable last night."

Give me a hand? What is he going to do? Hold my dick while I pee?

Ugh, maybe. I shudder with the thought. Thankfully he doesn't notice, just swings himself off the other side and comes around to me, helping me sit up and then stand up. The room is icy, the cold wind coming down the chimney hits my bare skin and I start shivering almost immediately.

He throws me a worried look, grabs the quilt off the futon and pulls me against his chest wrapping the quilt around my shoulders and hugging me tight.

"I have an idea, why don't I run you a hot bath and then I'll get a fire going in here?"

So long as you don't plan on joining me in the bath, I think quickly, but just nod silently.

He leads me towards the small room, and I think I'll get the chance to finally see outside. But the first thing I notice is that he's put a padlock on the front door, he's clearly not taking chances now.

He whistles beside me quickly in surprise and I follow his eye line out the window. All I see is white. Sheer, undulating whiteness and I realize after a few seconds it's snow, a lot of it, falling fast and furious.

"Good thing I got supplies yesterday, there's no going anywhere in that."

His tone is light, like its no big deal, but my heart is pounding, devastation courses through me as I realize with every flake, any trace of his path to this spot is being erased, along with my chances of being rescued any time soon. I want to scream and cry, but I can't, so I just follow him dumbly to the bathroom, where he gives me a private moment before coming in and starting the hot water in the tub while I sit on the toilet seat waiting.

He helps me get in the water and then actually leaves, only leaving the door open a crack, so I can 'call him if I need him', a clear invitation for me to ask him to join me. I stay silent.

The hot water feels good, my cold toes burn for a while at first before adjusting. I smell the fire soon, the wood crackling from the living room and he moves around the kitchen, and soon I smell food cooking and my stomach growls.

I wonder if I can keep playing up the weak and sick card all day, if it would keep him from hurting me for 24 hours at least, long enough for the storm to pass.

His knuckles rapping on the door startle my thought suddenly and he pokes his head in.

"You ok in there? Warming up?"

I nod.

"Yes, a little better." Might not be hard to fake this 'feeling like crap' stuff, cuz I really do. Last time I considered faking sick to get out of something, and then was really sick, was at the office, when Ellen let me go early. A pang hits the middle of my chest when I think of her. I hated her, now I would give anything to see her again.

He comes in and kneels next to the tub and I pray he doesn't start trying to give me a hand job, but he just brushes my hair back and smiles at me gently.

"Feel up to having a shave? You're getting a little out of control there."

Let's see, do I trust the lunatic who kidnapped me and has been repeatedly raping me to have anything sharp near my throat. The answer is a resounding no.

He sees my expression and laughs.

"Relax Cas, I'll let you do it, use the electric razor, I'll get it out for you."

He stands up, stopping only for a moment to kiss the top of my head before he disappears and comes back with the instrument, leaving it on the sink and closing the door again.

Part of me wants to defiantly ignore his request, choose to stay hairy, because maybe it'll make me less attractive to him. At the same time, I can't piss him off.

I wait until the water starts to cool, my toes and fingers thoroughly wrinkled beyond recognition before I get out of the water. The act of drying myself exhausts me and I have to sit down for a few minutes before I can stand in front of the mirror with the razor. I shave as fast as I can, knowing my energy will only hold out so long.

When I'm done I slump down onto the toilet seat again, eyes closed from the dizziness and I hear him coming down the hall before he knocks again.

"Cas, you ok?"

As little as I want to ask him for help, I know I'm not walking anywhere on my own power.

"I'm done.. I'm just really dizzy again."

The door swings open and he crouches down in front of me, worry on his face and then he's gone again, back moments later with the robe he bought me. It smells clean, he's washed it and I'm grateful for a moment. I wonder where in hell he washed it, but decide against asking.

He helps me slide it on, tying it at my waist and then slides his arms under my back and legs, lifting me gently and carrying me into the living room and back onto the couch.

The fire has warmed the room, erasing the uncomfortable chill, but I still shiver. He tucks the quilt over me again, fingers brushing my hair back, eyes full of worry.

"You need to eat."

You need to stop raping me, then I'd stop puking. Better yet, you need to not have damn well kidnapped me.

He heads into the kitchen, oblivious to my silent arguing and starts putting soup into a bowl before bringing it back to me, steam rising off the surface.

He sets it on the table and helps me sit up, leaning against some pillows.

Exhaustion grips me suddenly, and my eyes start sliding closed again.

"Cas, come on, stay with me long enough to eat."

I force my eyes open, despite their heaviness continuing to threaten to droop my lids and I watch him pick up the soup and a spoon and he starts feeding it to me.

In most situations, I would be pretty indignant about someone feeding me like a small child, but right now, I know I couldn't do it myself and as much as I'm loathe to admit it, he's right, I need to eat. This is the only option.

It's more chicken noodle, and tastes pretty good, though my sleep muddled mind has trouble really grasping onto it.

I get through half the bowl before my eyes refuse to stay open and I drift off.


	17. Chapter 17

Light undulating against my eyelids pulls me to the surface. I crack them open slightly and see the fire still burning, lights flashing from the TV, but the room is otherwise dark. I have slept all damn day, though I'm not complaining, I didn't get raped in that time.

Dean is sitting at the end of the couch, my feet on his lap, one hand idly rubbing the bottom of my right foot, the other holding the remote. I study him for a few moments, while he still thinks I'm asleep. The blue light from the TV makes his eyes almost iridescent, his angular nose and full lips more prominent. He looks beautiful, he is truly a gorgeous man, and he looks so damn normal, sane even, it's hard to see the evil that lurks underneath, the man capable of the things he's done to me. I'm pulled back to the same curiosity I've had since that Monday morning when he talked to me, joined me for lunch. What in hell is it about me that he's so damn interested in? Not that I wish this hell on anyone else, though in truth, selfishly, if I could trade with someone, I totally would. But, Dean is well, Dean. He's tall, gorgeous, charming, smart, why does he need to resort to something like this with someone like me?

It's not long before he feels my eyes on him, his instincts are strong, and he turns and looks at me blankly for a moment before his lips curve up slightly in a curious smile.

"You're awake, why are you looking at me like that?"

His tone is gentle, a little playful and I blurt out my question before I can stop myself.

"Why me?"

His brows furrow in confusion.

"What do you mean why you?"

I try to decide if he's playing dense or not.

"I mean, why do you want me? I'm nothing, not compared to you, how does someone like you, who looks like you, get interested in someone like me?"

His eyes widen, I realize with horror that in my effort to ask an honest question, I have actually complimented him, but my query still stands.

His mouth opens a few times in surprise.

"Cas, I.. What do you mean by someone like you? Have you seen yourself?"

Now it's my turn to furrow my brows in confusion.

"Yes, though I generally try to avoid it, but I'm boring, plain and frankly not really worth your time, so I don't get it."

He now looks genuinely wounded by my words of self-deprecation, as though I'm insulting him and not myself.

He turns towards me more on the couch, both hands gripping my legs.

"Cas, you are gorgeous, how do you not know that? Or are you just messing with me?"

I squint at him in suspicion. How do I know he's not messing with me?

He huffs a breath when he realizes I'm not kidding about my opinion of myself.

"Cas, you are ridiculously hot, blue eyes, those amazing lips, a tight body, I don't understand how you can have such a low opinion of yourself, has someone told you that you aren't good looking?"

Anger creeps into his voice, as though he will go avenge me to whoever hurt my feelings.

"No, I... I've been bullied most of my life, but I'm a mousy little nerd, so no surprise there, but..." I cut off, because frankly I don't know what to say.

His head tilts and he looks at me pityingly, and I cringe.

"Don't look at me like that, I don't need pity."

"No, you probably don't want that, just like you didn't want pity about your parents."

"Please don't talk about them." I state firmly, before he can say more. He doesn't get that right, that privilege to mention them.

He sees my anger and backs off, nodding at my request.

"I think you need to give yourself more credit, you really do." He says softly.

I don't bother saying that even if there were a chance I could gain some self confidence, what he's done to me has destroyed that. I feel like a used piece of trash, not worthy of anyone now.

I turn and look at the TV, hoping that I've signalled the conversation is done. He has the weather network on, a woman standing in front of the studio in the snow is being blown around by the wind, clearly miserable with her assignment.

"Have they said much about the storm?" I ask dully. He doesn't say anything so I glance at him questioningly. He's still staring at me with pity.

"I asked you not to look at me like that." Now I'm getting really angry. He hears it and dutifully moves his eyes.

"Um, it's bad, one of the worst in years, we could be snowed in for a few days."

My heart drops. More time stuck here. He sees my panic and immediately tries to reassure me.

"It's ok, I heard it was coming, I stocked up well, we will be fine."

No, I probably won't, locked in here with you.

He smiles at me and reaches behind the futon, finding some latch before lowering it and crawling up beside me, pulling me against his chest and kissing me gently. I cringe.

"Don't worry, we will be fine, baby."

He traces his lips down my jaw, hand snaking inside the quilt and my robe as I'm trying desperately to keep it cocooned around myself as protection and failing. His fingers trace up my back and then down, sliding between the mounds of flesh to my ass and I tense immediately, body quivering in fear.

"Shhhh, relax Cas, not gonna hurt you."

And how many times have you broken that promise since we got here?

His lips find mine again, and he covers my whimpers with his tongue, fingers exploring around but not going in, not yet. He bucks his hips forward, pressing his denim covered erection against me, tongue darting in my mouth at the same time suggestively.

He stops moving his mouth suddenly, talking with his lips still partially against mine.

"Fuck, we don't have the lube out here."

A spark of hope runs through me, ridiculous though I know it is.

He moves suddenly, almost leaping over me and takes off for the bedroom, while I scramble to get up, find a place to hide.

I land on my hands and knees on the floor, crawling towards a door beside the fireplace. I have no idea where it goes, but it has to be somewhere I can get away, somewhere better than staying here waiting for him.

He's fast though, his heavy footsteps coming back too quickly and he catches me, in front of the fireplace, glaring down at me.

Shit, I can't let him get angry, terror runs through me.

"I... I was cold." I kneel in front of the fireplace, look up at him pathetically, praying he buys it. His face softens, then gets devious.

"You on your hands and knees like that, gives me some ideas." I shiver in horror at the implication. It never fails to amaze me how he can violate me just with words, before he violates my body.

He sheds his shirt quickly, tossing it at the couch and comes towards me, crotch in my face again and I swallow hard. I debate on what's worse, sucking him or having him fuck me, and decide sucking is the preferable option, if you can call it that, but it hurts less.

I slide towards him slightly on my knees, trying to point him in that direction and look up at him and he smiles crookedly.

"Atta boy, now you're getting into it."

I'm hardly getting into it, just trying to evenly distribute the horror.

"Get my cock out." He orders me, voice low and gruff with desire.

My hands shake as I lift them, my right one still mostly useless as I undo his belt, and then his jeans, his cock springing free almost the moment I have his zipper down. I swallow hard again, wet my lips and slide my mouth down it, desperately trying to control my gag reflex.

"Fuck Cas..." He draws out, head thrown back.

I try to set up a fast rhythm, get him off quickly, but he grabs the back of my head, sliding his dick all the way in and holds me there. I swallow hard, trying not to vomit and he shudders from the feeling.

He slides back out, hissing through his teeth before pushing slowly back into my mouth, groaning the entire way.

"Take the robe off, I want to see you."

The last thing I want to do is get naked, that opens up the possibilities, but I can't defy him so I undo the belt and shrug it off my shoulders and toss it to the side, all while he holds his cock at the back of my throat, pulling out slowly when I'm done.

He continues this for a while, fucking my mouth slowly, and my jaw aches from being open so far for so long. I slide my tongue around him, sucking hard when I can, still attempting to get him to come quicker but he pulls away each time I think he's getting close.

"Fuck Cas, you are getting really good at this, you're a fast learner."

I hear the note of pride in his voice, but ignore it, focussing on sucking on the head of his cock as he pulls it back out.

"We gotta stop or it's going to be over before its just begun."

Pulling his cock away completely he shoves his jeans down and kicks them off, dropping the lube on the rug beside me and crouching down onto his knees, he follows me as I start to back away, ending up on my back on the rough wool rug.

He slides between my legs, holding me down and locks his mouth on mine, kissing me hard, sucking my tongue into his mouth and pulling on my bottom lip with his teeth.

His hips keeps a rhythm, bucking against me, hard wet cock sliding on my abdomen. He trails bites and kisses down my jaw, and brushes his scruff against my neck, clearly trying to get a reaction from me, but it doesn't work this time, I'm panicking way too much about what's to come. Now I'm even more terrified, if he gets angry, he gets more violent. Breathing picking up speed in fear, I can only hope I can hyperventilate myself into unconsciousness.

Clearly noticing my distress he raises his head and looks down at me mildly.

"Cas, baby, relax, it's ok if you aren't into it yet, I've realized it may take more time than I thought."

Really asshole? You actually thought you might win me over at some point, suddenly I'll start enjoying you forcing your dick into my body against my will?

He smiles at me, as though that will calm me down and kisses me gently before resuming his path of hickeys around my neck.

His hand slides between us and between my legs, sliding down my cock and to my balls, gently squeezing them before his fingers slide further, touching every part of me, leaving nothing on me intimate or my own.

Suddenly his head comes up and he looks down at me with a smile, not unnerved by my grimace.

"I have an idea." He states before sliding off me and sitting on his heels.

"Sit up."

Shaking still, I manage to pull myself up so I'm sitting in front of him, knees under my chin protectively.

He gives me an exasperated look.

"It's gonna be tough to touch yourself in that position."

My breathing stops short, he wants me to do what? I feel heat creeping into my cheeks. Masturbation is normal, I'm somewhat of an expert frankly, but I've always felt embarrassed about someone finding out about it and now the thought of doing it in front of him, which is clearly his thinking, I want to crawl under the floor.

"Cas, relax, I think it might help, if I know what you like, it can make things easier."

The list of what I don't like is frankly more pertinent here, but I keep my mouth shut.

He puts his hands on my knees, gently trying to separate them while smiling at me.

My face blazing I lower my knees so I'm sitting cross legged on the old wool rug. The bigger issue I know is that I don't want to get turned on, I'm still ashamed and furious with my body for last night, but he's going to expect me to right now and I gulp in fear.

"You're really embarrassed about this aren't you? Please tell me you have jerked off before?"

His tone is teasing and I get immediately offended.

"Yes, I was also not a virgin, just so you know."

Why in hell are you defending yourself to him Cas! What the fuck!

His eyes darken for a moment, clearly he thought I was, shit, this might be bad.

"Who have you been with?" All teasing gone from his voice I start shaking again.

"A... Girl... In college, she's the only one."

He relaxes visibly.

"That was a while ago, I'm going to assume you've gotten off since then, yes?"

I stare a hole in the carpet as I nod.

"Ok then, pretend I'm not here, and just relax, trust me."

I scan around the fireplace for a few moments, looking for some sort of poker or weapon but there's nothing.

Shaking with shame and fear I close my eyes and put my hand on myself, stroking slowly. I hear his intake of breath, shaky with desire as he watches me and revulsion runs over me.

My hand has no effect, I feel no desire or pleasure from what I'm doing and my throat closes with oncoming sobs but I control them. I hear him open the bottle of lube and then the slick wet sound as he jerks himself watching me and my skin crawls more. Just when I think it can't get worse, he goes and ups the ante.

"Come on Cas, it's just you and me here, relax, do what makes you feel good."

The reason I'm not turned on is because you're here Dean. I want to spit that in his face, make him realize why I'm not hard.

His impatience taking over he slides closer to me, knees spread so mine are against his inner thighs, kissing me while his hand replaces mine on my dick, his movements more rough, desperate.

When he doesn't get a response either, he grumbles in frustration and sits back and stares at me hard. Fear races down my spine, I can't let him get angry.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

I don't know what to say to appease him. He sighs deeply, but his expression softens and he nods.

My mind grapples on what to do, should I try to continue the blow job, maybe if I still get him off, he'll be happy?

No he's kneeling, that would be awkward, hand job? That could work.

I pick up the lube with shaky hands, his eyebrows go up in surprise and interest as I pour some out in my palm and then reach forward and run my hand down him slowly. He hums and smiles at me, eyes locked on mine and I see him relaxing more and some of my own tension leaves my body.

I set a rhythm, teasing around the head of his cock with my fingers and reach forward with my other hand to cup his balls and his eyes slide closed and his head goes back.

Despite his obvious pleasure, it's still taking way too much damn time for him to come for my own comfort, so I need to speed things up, no matter how much it makes me cringe. Leaning forward I run my tongue across one of his nipples and his breathing hitches. I can taste the sweat on his skin, a fine coating of salty fluid that makes me wince but I persist, licking again and then sucking on the hardening nub.

"Holy shit Cas baby, you are one damn fast learner." He laughs once, deep in his chest and groans as I move to his other nipple, hand increasing pressure and picking up speed.

His hips start moving, fucking my hand versus me doing the stroking and I let him.

"Aw, shit, fuck."

His cursing picks up intensity, and volume and I close my hand a little more.

"Ask me, tell me what you want me to do." He pants at me and it takes me a second to realize what he means, but I get it before inadvertently asking him to do something stupid like add wood to the fire.

"Uh, come... Come Dean." I state awkwardly and he looks down at me, lips smirking and eyebrow up. Clearly that was not sexy at all for him, so I clear my throat and try again.

"Come for me Dean, right now."

He moans loudly, head going back again and the warm fluid splashes onto my hand and legs. I hold still while he keeps slowly pumping into my hand, riding out his orgasm and pray he's done for the night.

He finally settles down and I release him, sit back a little, but he catches me before I get too far, hand on the back of my neck, kissing me hard for a few minutes as I breathe awkwardly through my nose.

When he finally releases my lips he keeps his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

"Thank you baby, I needed that."

Because the four times you've raped me weren't enough this week?

He gets up and gets some paper towel from the kitchen, which he hands to me and waits while I clean up my hand and legs.

Then he holds out his hand and helps me get up, leading me back over to the couch and down onto it, pulling me into his chest, face buried in his neck uncomfortably.

He pulls the quilt back up and kisses my forehead before sighing and gently rubbing my back with his fingers. Evidently he wants to cuddle, while I would rather cut my own head off at this moment.

His breathing and hand slow at the same time and soon he's snoring softly while I lie awake uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

A few days, this storm is supposed to last a few days, but can I? I managed to curtail him from hurting me tonight, though the trade off wasn't all that great either, but I can't see that lasting.

The wind gusts outside, ice pellets rocketing against the window, like purveyors of doom.

I slide slowly into sleep, mind spinning as I try to come up with an escape plan, but end up with nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

A loud bang startles me awake and I jump slightly, trying to get my bearings. I'm still on the futon in the living room, quilt swaddled around me, but Dean is gone. I hear his heavy footsteps on stairs behind the door beside the fireplace and I realize that's the entrance to the basement. I don't want to go down there, that's where Jason spent two weeks locked up, I shudder at the thought.

He comes clattering through the door, arms full of firewood and looks startled to see me awake, stopping dead for a moment, eyes wide before he recovers.

"Morning sunshine, thought I'd get more wood." As if the pile in his hands isn't obvious.

I nod quietly and watch as he stacks it besides the fireplace.

"Are you hungry?" He asks when he's done, already heading towards the kitchen.

I try to decide if I am, and my stomach gives a faint rumble, so I nod at him again and he smiles.

"You're really chatty today aren't you."

Sorry, my jaw hurts from giving you a blow job last night. I sit up slowly on the bed, body aching, and look out the window. It's still snowing, but it's light, almost like a scene on a Christmas card.

"If you want to have a shower, make it quick, the water heaters struggling a little."

I swing my legs over the edge of the futon and stand awkwardly, wrapping my robe around myself.

Limping slightly still I head for the bathroom and turn the hot water on. The shower wakes me up more and I enjoy the time alone until the temperature starts to drop.

I dry off and find a new toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink. I assume its meant for me, and I'm actually grateful for the gift, my mouth is disgusting, I don't know how he's been kissing me, but maybe this is proof it was finally offending him, hence this obvious placement.

Finished, I hear him call my name from the kitchen, informing me breakfast is ready, so I stumble out to join him, feet moving quickly on the icy floor. He gave me slippers but I have no idea where they ended up after that night.

He's got a fire going when I come out, TV on, the weather network station still set.

"Looks like the worst is over," he says mildly and helps me into a chair, setting a cup of tea and oatmeal down in front of me.

I eat slowly, not wanting to make myself sick and watch the news reports of trees down and video montages of plows combing over the roads.

He sits next to me, crunching a piece of toast, purposely resting his knee against mine.

He has an air of tension around him this morning, and I don't know why, but it's making me nervous and my hands start to shake and I keep casting furtive glances in his direction.

He notices my hands first and then catches one of my glances, brows furrowing in annoyance.

"What's wrong?"

"I..." My voice gets shaky, panic blooming in my chest that he's on a mood swing again and I'm about to pay for it. "You seem upset about something, did I do something wrong?"

His face falls immediately, toast dropping down onto his plate as his hands come towards me, pulling me into a hug.

"No, no, baby, I'm sorry, I'm just frustrated with that old piece of shit water heater down there, you didn't do anything." He kisses the top of my head, pressing my ear against his chest. It's uncomfortable, but I relax, he's not angry with me.

"Lets just chill out today in front of the fireplace, yeah?" He asks me through my damp hair.

I nod against his chest.

"Back to being a man of many words again I see," he laughs.

He leans me back, hand tilting my chin up to kiss me gently, but he deepens it after a moment and the panic resumes in my lungs.

"You know, we never did test out that new position of you on your hands and knees last night." His voice is deep and full of seduction and I start shaking with fear.

"Shh shh baby, it's gonna be ok, I won't hurt you, I didn't last night," he points out.

And technically, yes he did, my jaw hurts, but that is nothing compared to what he could do, is intending to do.

He slides his chair back and pulls me from mine, spreading my legs and making me straddle his lap before sliding me forward, crotches together. I can feel him getting hard through his cotton pyjama pants and I realize this is the first time I've seen him wear those. Jeans were better, I could feel him then, but they were more restraining, this is much worse.

His mouth explores my neck and clavicle. He makes no attempt to rub his beard against my skin, and I don't know if its because he's given up or just doesn't care. His hands undo the belt on the robe and I try to push away from him using the back of his chair, but he's too fast as usual, palms cupping my ass and pulling me forward roughly, grinding against me.

Mind spinning I start trying to decide if I can stop him like I did last night, but he's clearly not interested in my pleasure this time, it's animalistic, like the first time he raped me, it's all about him. I whimper in fear and he ignores it.

Gripping me against him, hands under my ass he lifts me and stands, carrying me towards the fireplace and I start shoving harder, trying to dislodge myself and get away. The basement suddenly not looking so bad a place to go.

I finally manage to shake loose in front of the fireplace and land in a heap on the floor, pain shooting through my tailbone, the back of my head smacking on the floor making my vision double. He just stands and glares not helping me.

"I'm not really sure why you keep fighting me. You were more than willing to be a slut last night, jerking me off, but now you're a frigid bitch?"

He's angry, tone biting and full blown panic pours over me and I start trying to scramble away, rolling onto my hands and knees and starting to crawl.

He lands on his knees behind me and grabs my waist with an iron grip, slamming his crotch against my ass.

"Then again you keep presenting yourself like this too, you are a confusing one Cas."

He lifts my robe, exposing my ass, other hand digging into my hip, holding me in place.

"Good thing I left this here last night," he states evenly and I hear the bottle of lube open and bubble as he squirts it on my ass, down my crack and dripping over my hole. I start to cry.

Dropping the bottle on the floor he runs a finger down the fluid in my crack before jamming it inside me and I squeak in pain.

"I thought we were getting somewhere Cas, I have been showing you how much I love you, but you just keep fighting, you give in and then fight, give in and fight, you're driving me insane." His finger stabs into me on every other word and I let out a shuddering cry of pain as he reopens all my wounds. He adds a second and third finger at the same, spreading them beyond what I could ever handle and I scream, fingers clawing on the carpet, trying to pull myself away, but instead I just make them bleed as my fingernails break and the skin burns on the rough material.

Panting hard with arousal, the fingers disappear and I hear him ripping his pants down and the lube bubbling again, liquid dripping onto the carpet as he carelessly pours it on himself.

He lines his dick up, and I try once again to pull away, legs feeling weak, his hand on my hip holding me up.

"I am going to show you how much I love you, you are going to feel it." He pushes in, his full length into my body and my shoulders collapse down to the carpet as I scream again, voice hoarse from the effort.

He grabs my other hip with his free hand and starts slamming into me, groaning through his teeth, his anger a constant along with his arousal.

My screams become strangled cries as my voice and body start to give out, and I start praying for blackness, but his cock pushing in and out of me keeps me present and I can only cry from the pain.

"Fuck, Cas, I'm beginning to think you make me angry on purpose, because you like being fucked hard."

I groan, disgusted and horrified in response.

His hips start snapping forward faster, ripping me apart and suddenly he pulls out, shoves me sideways and grabs the front of the robe, pulling my head up, jerking himself a few times before his come splatters down my face, dripping off my chin and I barely get my eyes closed in time.

As soon as he's done, he just lets go of the robe and lets me collapse back onto the floor, body laying at broken angles, energy gone to right myself.

He stands up, glares down at me, my blood splattered on the front of what's left of his pants and he spits on me and walks away.

I hear the water start in the shower and I lie in shock, unable to move.

The hot water heater knocks in the basement from the effort of use, it's rhythm close to the throb in my ass.

A low rumbling sound comes from the front of the cabin, and it doesn't catch my attention at first until I find myself focussing on it, desperate for a distraction.

The more I focus, the more I realize what it is.

Somehow, lying here in horror, surrounded by my own blood, I get the wherewithal to listen.

I listen to it for close to five minutes before I realize what it is.

A cell phone, vibrating.

Dean has a cell phone here.

Heart pounding, I start flailing slightly, trying to find the energy and ability to get moving, to find the phone, call for help and I need to do it before he's done in the shower.

Rolling onto my side roughly I rub the sleeve of my robe over my face, wiping his semen away and I stare in the direction of the sound. It takes me a few moments to figure out the probable source, his leather coat, hanging beside the door.

Purpose and direction now set, I push myself up on my hands and knees again, legs threatening to give out with each movement, blood dripping down my thighs, but I persist, almost dragging myself to the coat. I realize as I reach it that I need to be careful. Just calling 911 is going to get me a bullet in my head, besides I don't know where exactly I am to tell them and it would take them too long to figure it out, which again, would end with a bullet in my head.

Being careful not to smear any blood on anything, including the wall and his coat, I start checking the pockets until my fingers hit cold glass and metal.

Sliding it out carefully, it starts vibrating again in my hand, the name Sam blazing on the screen.

The water shuts off in the bathroom and I start hyperventilating and desperately grapple with getting the phone into my pocket where I pray it won't go off again until I'm alone.

I need to move, need to have a reason to be in the hallway, so I move closer to the bathroom, hoping I can just say I wanted to take another shower to clean up.

I land just outside the door as he yanks it open, clearly still angry and he seems startled to see me at first, but then glowers down at me.

"I'm sorry Dean, I know I've disappointed you, I know you love me, I've never doubted it and I'll try to be better." The words tumble out before I even think them, but I know I need to calm him down. I cast a furtive glimpse up to his face, trying to see if it worked at all and try to look as sorry as I can.

His face has relaxed, more pensive and he crouches down in front of me, now dressed in jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.

"I'm sorry I hurt you again, sometimes when it comes to you, I just can't control..." He breaks off and I try to smile at him, make my face look forgiving and he buys it after a moment and relaxes more, coming towards me and I panic that he will feel the phone in my pocket or that it will go off, but instead he just kisses me gently and I force myself to kiss him back, to keep the act up. That seems to make him really happy, and he smiles more at me as he backs up, joyous that he's finally won me over, if he only knew.

"There's still some hot water, why don't you have another shower, I'll fix you up when you get out and we will just relax and watch a movie."

I smile at him trying to look relaxed and happy with this idea and he helps me stand slowly and into the bathroom before closing the door behind him as he leaves.

I turn the water on and yank the phone from my pocket quickly.

It's an iPhone and he has a pass lock on it. I start trying combinations, like his name, his brothers name plus random numbers. Minutes tick by as I try combo after combo.

Frustrated I try to think straight, try to think of what he would use.

I try my name, CAST, the first four letters, nothing. I try CASN, my nickname plus my first initial. Still nothing.

Think Castiel think.

Cas, he calls me Cas, but what if he adds an S to the end.

I type in the corresponding numbers to CASS and the phone clicks open to me and I almost sob in relief.

The first thing I see is that he has approximately 400 missed messages and texts, presumably from his brother. Then I spot google maps, and stab my finger on the app. I use the arrow locator to drop a pin on my location and am shocked when it works, considering I suspect we are in the middle of no where.

I take a screenshot of the pin up close, showing only the closest roads and then back it up slightly, giving more details and take another screenshot. I do it again one more time, allowing highways to come into view and take one more screenshot.

Now that I've done this, I need to send them to someone, but who? Bobby's dead, my aunt doesn't have a cell and I have no idea what Jody's cell number is.

I scroll through his contacts, eyes scanning, looking for someone friendly who will help me. I hear the basement door slam again and jump in fear, and my body screams in pain in response, blackness tinging my vision and the phone almost drops to the floor.

Gathering myself, I just need to send these pictures, and then I can collapse in the tub.

As I'm scrolling I spot the name Ellen and stop, her cell and work number are there. Of all the women we work with, she was the one least suspectible to his charms, and she was there the other night at the vigil, I have to trust she will help me.

I create a text and type as fast as my broken bloody fingernails will let me.

_Ellen hlep it's Cas I sending maps do not text back or he will see_

I send the message, typos and all and start sending the pictures, one by one, agonizingly slow.

His fist raps on the door and I jump again, crying out in pain.

"Cas? You ok in there? Do you need help?"

He sounds panicked and I shove the phone in my pocket, last picture still sending, in case he comes in. My heart feels like its going to leap out of my chest in fear, but somehow I manage to talk.

"I'm ok, just enjoying the heat, I'll be out in a few."

I hear him sigh loudly in relief.

"Ok. You scared me a little there."

"Sorry, I'll be done soon, I promise."

I wait until his footsteps are back in the living room before pulling the phone back out. The last picture is gone, the tiny word delivered underneath it.

I quickly delete the messages from his phone and then the pictures, erasing evidence and hide the phone in my robe on the floor before scrambling into the tub, body shrieking in pain.

It takes a while before the water stops running red from my ass and my fingers are almost unusable with pain.

When I'm done I wrap the towel around myself and pick up my soiled robe and carry it awkwardly down the hall, depositing it just under his coat, so if it vibrates again, the sound will be coming from the same area. I want to get it back in his coat, but I don't know if he will be watching or not.

When I turn around, I realize he's not in the living room. The basement door is open again, and I assume he's getting more wood, so I take the chance. Fishing the phone out, I quickly wipe it down in case there's still blood on it and slide it back into the same pocket I found it in.

Heart pounding I limp and stumble over to the futon and try to sit down, but it hurts so much I'm forced to lie down, wrapping the quilt around me while I'm still in the towel and I wait.

His feet come up the stairs, grunting with the effort and he stomps into the room angrily and I freeze. Please don't be angry again, please please please.

He dumps the wood beside the fireplace and throws a log on the fire before turning the TV up and finally looks at me.

I lie petrified, but his expression relaxes immediately and he comes towards me quickly, kicking his shoes off and sliding behind me on the futon, pulling my back against his chest and nuzzling my hair with his nose. It takes every thing I have to relax against him and not start struggling, but I have to keep up this pretence, until help arrives.

I pray help is coming, that someone is coming now, but I don't know how long it could take, how long I have to pretend to be happy with him.

"Anything I need to doctor?" He asks me, mouth almost against my ear and with effort I turn my head and look up at him, trying to smile.

"I think I'm ok," I say as brightly as I can and he smiles again and kisses me and once again I have to return it as though its what I want, despite my roiling stomach and crawling skin.

He kisses my cheek after and snuggles in to me, putting pressure on my sore shoulder, but I keep quiet.

I start a mantra in my head, only a little longer, just a little longer, help is coming.

It's hard to believe help is coming. The messages said delivered, but have they been seen?

He flicks through the stations, looking for something to watch and settles on some movie about the mob. He puts the remote down, satisfied with his selection and slides his hand down my arm, intertwining his fingers with mine and I yelp slightly, startling him.

He lifts my hand and looks at my fingers, the destroyed, mostly missing nails and I hear and feel his sharp intake of breath.

"Cas, you said you were fine, look at your hand." His voice is tinged with panic as he takes in the damage.

Shit, shit, shit.

"I didn't want to worry you," I whisper meekly.

"Oh baby," he moans, like he's the one in pain and then he brings my hand to his mouth, kissing my palm gently.

He looks at each finger closer, and seems to determine there isn't much he can do anyway and gently sets it down and sighs.

"I'm gonna have to help you more the next few days, until that starts to heal."

"Thank you," I whisper, unable to put more force into it because I really don't mean it, but he buys it and smiles at me gently and kisses my temple softly before resuming our cuddled position, his hand resting on my chest this time and we lie watching the movie for a while.

Pain and exhaustion threaten to pull me into unconsciousness but I stay awake, ears tuned to any noises outside of a car pulling up or a helicopter over head but the sky darkens as the day wanes on and night falls as the third movie ends.

He kisses the back of my neck as the credits roll.

"You hungry? I should make some dinner."

I nod and he slides away behind me and pads into the kitchen. I pick up the remote and switch it to the game show network, my search for distraction. I am desperate to flip to a news station, to see if the cavalry is on it's way, but I don't dare. I stare at Family Feud while he clatters around the kitchen, and soon the scent of bacon frying hits my nose, but I'm not hungry. I still feel sick by the pain and disgusting things he did to me earlier and my stomach roils again.

I push myself up into a sitting position, and pain shoots through my ass and I stand quicker than I intended, almost falling over and he comes towards me fast, having spotted me wobbling.

"Whoa whoa, what are you doing?"

"Sorry, I just need to use the bathroom, thought I'd wash up."

He smiles and slides an arm around my waist and helps me to the bathroom, my eyes darting to the windows as we go, desperate for some sign of life, but it's inky dark out, the snow barely twinkling on the ground.

He leaves me thankfully, and I take a deep breath to calm my stomach and my nerves, trying to enjoy a few moments of peace alone. I turn the water on in the sink, it only gets to warmish, the water heater still isn't working clearly but I splash some on my face anyway, hoping it will help, but it's a mistake. The feeling reminds me immediately of him coming on my face and my stomach heaves, mouth filling with vomit, I barely have time to get over the toilet.

I pray he didn't hear me, and listen hard, but don't hear his feet coming my way at all. The TV is loud, from when he turned it up earlier and I can still hear him moving things in the kitchen.

I throw up a second time, emptying my stomach and try to keep my coughing quiet.

Feeling weaker than ever, I flush the toilet and drag myself back up in front of the sink, rinsing my mouth with cold water and then brushing my teeth in case he kisses me.

"Cas, you ok?" He hollers down the hall?

Limbs shaking from the effort of just standing, I pull the door open and brace myself on the wall as I go back into the living room.

He glances up at me, and worry immediately pulls his brows together and I see a flash of light in my eyes, and realize I might be about to pass out.

The light flickers again and I stop dead in the entry to the living room, and so does he in the kitchen.

That light wasn't in my head, that was from outside and he saw it too.

Heart pounding I swallow hard as his face hardens, eyes skimming to the window over the kitchen sink. I don't dare turn my head, but I have to look, so I just move my eyes.

A tiny blip of light flickers outside, like a headlamp on someone and all at once I can see the night moving, undulating darkness, as bodies, people, move into positions around the cabin.

My eyes slide back over to Dean to meet his furious glare.

"Cas, what did you do?"

His voice is vicious, deadly and I start panting in fear. I'm closer to the front door, but he's still got it padlocked. There is no back door, and I consider running back for the bedroom, where there is a much larger window I can smash through. He clearly anticipates this and darts towards me and in my injured state I can't move fast enough before he has his arms locked around me, squeezing the air from my lunges, his heart pounding against my back.

"Dean..." I try to get a breath to talk, but it's hard. "Dean, please, I didn't do anything, they saw you... Saw you when you went to get supplies..."

Breathing hard in my ear he's almost growling.

"When?"

"A few.. Days ago, I saw an alert.."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!" He screams in my ear and I cry out in fear and pain.

"I thought you knew... I thought.."

"You idiot! Look what you've done!" He turns me suddenly, shoving me down in front of the fireplace and I freeze in horror for a moment that he's going to rape me again, with them all outside, but he doesn't, just storms forward and kicks me hard in the ribs and I scream soundlessly.

Clawing and dragging again, I restart the bleeding on my fingers, but I need to get away from him and I don't understand why they haven't come in yet, haven't stopped him, I want to scream to them, tell them he's killing me, but I have no voice.

He kicks me again in the thigh, numbing my leg for a few moments before pain rushes through it. I throw my hand forward, trying to move again and it hits wood, the pile he brought up earlier. Burning pain searing through my fingers I get them around a piece and whip it behind me as hard as I can. It almost hits his forehead, but his arms go up to deflect just in time, stunning him more than anything. He looks like an angry beast, animalistic, his eyes wild as he stalks towards me and I dig my toes into the carpet to propel myself forward. I head butt the basement door when the first voice outside comes in the windows.

"DEAN WINCHESTER, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP."

Distracted he turns to look out the front and I shove myself up, wrenching the door open and dive towards the stairs, rolling down them, slamming into the walls as I go, landing in a crumpled heap on the bottom, dazed and wheezing and unable to even determine what parts of me don't currently hurt.

Eyes moving wildly around the room, looking for a place to hide if he comes down here they lock on something else entirely.

Another pair of eyes, staring back at me, a mouth open, clearly yelling at me to move, I must have deafened myself somehow, hitting my head coming down the stairs.

I can't move, it hurts too much and I'm stunned into position staring at the face, one I'm familiar with, thoughts gone.

Bobby stares back at me.


	19. Chapter 19

Sound comes rushing back to my ears like a wave from an ocean crashing to shore, it starts quiet and become a roar in only a few seconds. The volume level in the cabin explodes around me as the glass in the windows starts shattering upstairs.

I keep my eyes locked on Bobby and he returns the stare. We both listen, terrified about how this is going to end, but even if I wanted to move, I couldn't. Pain envelops me and I'm fairly certain I've broken my arm, possibly my leg and blood pours down my forehead as the wound created my first night here by the butt of his gun has been ripped open again.

Bobby pulls on the cuffs attaching him to a pipe running into the hot water heater and so much starts to make sense to me, but at the same time it doesn't. The banging I heard from down here earlier, was that Bobby? Why haven't I heard him before now?

His attempts are futile, the pipe runs underground, a tight anchor and the cuffs are unforgiving. His fingers twitch towards me, desperate to get to me, his face full of panic.

Feet echo across the floor upstairs, I can't make sense of how many, but they are loud, heavy, and I hear scuffling, Dean yelling at them as they force him onto the floor.

"CAS!!!!! CAS!!!"

Repeatedly he starts screaming my name and the sound of it makes me physically recoil. I can't hear it, can't listen to his voice anymore and despite the agony in my body and arms I pull them up and put my hands over my ears, desperate to block him out. Bobby stares at me in pity, for once it doesn't make me angry.

Deans voice gets pulled away, dragged out the door, though he doesn't stop screaming.

The feet keep moving, I wonder if they will ever come downstairs, if they will find us, but then a hand is on my arm, trying to pull my own hand from my ear, a voice talking to me, gentle.

"Castiel? Sweetheart, it's ok, help is here."

I tear my eyes away from Bobby, who's already looking at the source of the voice, barking instructions at them but I can only focus on one thing at a time.

Jody looks down at me, her face full of concern and barely concealed panic, it takes me a moment to realize she's panicking about me, I must be in bad shape, worse than I thought.

Her face doubles over me, voice ebbing away and blackness tinges my vision.

The last thing I hear is her saying it's over.

I don't know if I believe her or not.

 

* * *

 

People always say its the beeping of machines that they hear when they first wake up in a hospital, it's the same in movies and books, the sound like a pull for a person, yanking them out of the darkness, or the arms of death, whatever the case may be.

For me it's the smell. That astringent clean scent that can only be associated with a place of sickness and death.

A hand grips mine tightly, my ruined fingernails sting and burn with the pressure.

My body feels numb, not my own, a side effect of heavy pain killers I assume. My eyes are dry, so is my throat, my tongue heavy.

I hear footsteps enter the room and my body immediately tenses, memories versus reality colliding as I hear his footsteps coming down the hall in the cabin at the same time. Then I hear voices, asking questions about if I have woken up, they surround me, fingers touching me, checking me and I feel his hands on my body and fear grips me. I don't have the energy to tell them I'm awake now, but even if I did, I'm scared of opening my eyes, that the hospital, the ambulance, Jody, Bobby, all of it will be a dream, and I'm still on the futon in the cabin.

Panic sapping my low energy, I hear the footsteps leaving as the blackness returns.

 

* * *

 

The same smell wakes me the second time. It replaces the nightmare smell of a wood burning fire, of an old wool rug and the heavy iron scent of blood.

My mouth and eyes are just as dry, but my body is less numb, throbbing and stabbing in various places and I hear a soft noise come from my throat in reaction to my discomfort.

"Castiel? Honey?"

My Aunt Shelly, presumably the owner of the hand still gripping mine.

Her other hand comes up, cups my cheek, her skin is cool and soft, I smell a faint reminder of patchouli and my eyes well up slightly. I didn't think I'd ever see her again.

The moisture in my eyes helps me open them. She's leaning over me, eyes filled with concern and her own unshed tears.

"Hey honey," she stops, bottom lip quivering slightly. Unable to speak more she leans down and kisses me between my eyes and I long to crawl into her arms like a small child.

Recovering slightly, she brushes a tear from under her eye and smiles at me.

"How are you feeling?"

Her question brings the pain back on, reminding me, my ass is especially bad, stabbing burning pain.

I open my mouth to talk and find it impossible, the dryness blocking my tongue.

She watches my struggle for just a second before stopping me.

"Hold on honey," she releases my hand, and turns to the table. I hear water pouring into a glass and my throat burns in response.

She comes back to me, putting the straw between my lips.

"Take it slow ok."

The first sip is hard, but once I have some moisture it is easier. I only get a small amount before she stops me, and I almost whine when she takes the water away.

"You can have more in a few minutes sweetie, but the doctors don't want you overdoing it at first."

She smiles at me again, and I can see relief in her eyes.

The pain level starts to increase.

"I'm in pain." I blurt out through clenched teeth. My voice sounds raw, rough from that final day, all the screaming and the dryness since.

Her face fills with concern immediately and she starts pushing the call button.

It doesn't take long before two nurses and a doctor pour through the door.

"How long has he been awake?" The doctor addresses my aunt while holding my right wrist, feeling my pulse. It's then I realize my left arm and wrist are in a cast. My right shoulder throbs, I can feel some sort of bandaging on it as well. Fantastic, both arms are fucked.

"Just a few minutes, he had a sip of water and says he's in pain, can you give him something?"

The doctor finally looks at me, all business, but he nods and gives the nurse next to him instructions to get morphine. I want to protest, because I know it'll just knock me out again and I have so many questions, but the growing intensity of agony in my body keeps me quiet. I want relief more than answers.

The doctor finally steps up closer and actually looks me in the eye and I see some kindness. He's young, younger than me, I find this surprising. His skin is dark, making his grey eyes stand out in contrast. His face is structured, beautiful, and I can tell he's tall, but not awkward.

"The morphine will help, but will sedate you, do you have questions before we administer it?"

"How bad?" Is all I can get out and his face turns grave but not so much that I'm dying, thank goodness.

"You've sustained some serious injuries, but we are confident you will make a full recovery." I disagree, but really, my body will probably eventually heal, there's nothing he can do for the mental damage.

"We had to surgically repair your right shoulder, using pins to reset the socket in the joint, we also reset your left ankle, the break there is clean and should heal nicely with minimal rehabilitation needed. Your left femoral head, the ball part of the joint at your hip was cracked and split. We are hoping to avoid surgery, but it will take some time to heal fully, with the help of a crutch and then a cane, you will be able to get around, but you will need to be patient." So essentially my left leg is fucked. Great.

He continues to list my injuries, I begin to think it might have been easier for him to write it down, the list seems that long.

My left wrist is just a fracture apparently, it will heal quickly, but I was right, both arms are fucked for at least 6 weeks. I have a concussion too, just to add to the fun. Who knows when that happened, my head certainly took a beating.

"As for stitches," the doctor goes quiet for a moment and feeling of dread runs over me. "We did our best on your forehead, to minimize the scarring, but we were unable to prevent one, I can recommend a good plastic surgeon who might be able to do more. Internally, we used approximately 75 stitches, which will limit your mobility more than anything for awhile."

I don't even need to question where those internal stitches are. I know. I feel sick. Suddenly glad I didn't drink more water.

When he finishes detailing my broken, torn up body, I nod at him and he inputs the morphine into a machine beside the bed, locking it in so I can't do anything funny like force it all into my vein to kill myself. Once it starts trickling in, the effect is almost immediate, my body feels heavy and the numbness returns.

I wait for the darkness, pray for it and close my eyes.

I don't hear the door close as they leave.

 

* * *

 

My nose still burns with the scent of that cabin when I wake the third time. I have no idea how long I've been out or what has been happening in the meantime. I just wake crying and screaming hoarsely as the nightmare slowly evaporates.

My aunt is still there, hand gripping mine, other hand alternating between shaking my good shoulder to wake me and petting my hair, trying to comfort me. She's crying, emotional over seeing me scream like this. It's probably not going to get better, I'm just going to have to learn to hide it.

This happens two more times before the doctors decide to decrease my morphine, believing it to be part of the reason my nightmares are so intense. I know they are this intense because they are what happened, they are real memories, and no amount of fiddling with the medication is going to change that.

As the haze clears, I calm down more and my aunt relaxes next to me.

"How long?" I croak out, throat burning from the effort.

I hear water going into the cup again, the straw against my mouth as her pale blue eyes meet mine.

"You've been in the hospital for three days honey."

I sip the water, take my time.

Three days doesn't seem long.

"What day is it?"

"It's 3 in the morning, Thursday morning."

Guilt washes over me as I look at her, the dark circles under her eyes. I've probably been keeping her from sleeping with all my screaming.

"You should sleep."

She smiles sadly at me.

"There's plenty of time for sleep later, I need to take care of you right now." Her voice starts to catch when she finishes and a few tears trickle down her face. I want to hug her, tell her I'll be fine, reassure her but I can't even lift my arms. I squeeze her hand as best I can, despite the stinging in my fingernails and she nods.

"Tell me what happened. Where is he?"

A morbid feeling washes over me, maybe they had to shoot him or something.

She brushes more tears off her face.

"He's in jail, was denied bail yesterday for good reason. So far they've only charged him with what he did to you, but they think they've found enough evidence in that cabin to nail him for what he did to Jason as well and for what he did to Bobby."

Her mention reminds me.

"Where's Bobby, is he ok?"

"He's fine honey, sitting in the hall, he won't leave, but the doctors won't allow anyone who isn't family in here right now."

I need to have a word with that doctor.

"I want to see him." I state as firmly as I can. I need proof that he's alive, my memory is so muddled from that night, I'm finding it hard to believe.

She sees my desperation and nods quietly and stands, crossing to the door and disappearing through it for a moment.

It opens again and he stands there unsure for a few seconds, staring at me, his face a mix of pity, relief and sadness.

His eyes are hollow, almost black underneath and his cheeks are sunken slightly. He's wearing the same outfit I saw him in last, the day he got me to the highway, meaning Dean must have snatched him not long after I left Chicago. My throat closes in relief as I look at him and I see him swallowing hard as well with emotion.

"I thought you were dead... He told me you were dead." I swallow a sob and breath in shakily and he comes towards me quickly, pulling me into a bear hug, despite my injuries, cradling my head in his hand against his shoulder, but I don't care, touching him was the last proof I needed that he's still here, I start sobbing in earnest. Relief pouring over me, reality setting in that I'm out, lying in a hospital bed alive, that against all odds I survived. I spent a week in pure hell, and I got out. I have mixed emotions, I'm happy I'm alive, because there is some sweet revenge in that, I won, I beat Dean at his game, but at the same time, did I really? I will forever remember what he did to me, in minute detail, every second of my time there, my brain will probably punish me, and is that really living? Is that really surviving?

"I'm so sorry kid, I couldn't stop him, I tried, I could hear you screaming but he told me he would hurt you more if I did anything, and he kept knocking me out."

It makes sense now, I know the banging on the water heater was him, trying to tell me he was there. Dean going downstairs all day on Sunday, angry every time he came up, Bobby must have been fighting back more, probably broke the damn water heater.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his grip tightening.

I understand. He was forced to hear some of the things Dean did to me, and I know he probably sat there thinking of his son, of how he may have suffered the same way, screamed and no one could hear him.

He finally releases me, laying me back down on the bed gently, and subtly swiping a tear off his face, while mine run freely down my cheeks.

"I think he wanted to kill me on Sunday, but you made it impossible, you kept coming back into the living room or waking up." He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it and I do too. Is it possible I saved his life?

I remember Deans face Sunday morning, when he'd come upstairs, eyes shocked at seeing me awake. My memory paints a clearer picture, he had his winter boots and coat on, I hadn't noticed before or placed that as strange but now I get it. Maybe he intended to take Bobby out, shoot him in the woods, but he didn't want to let me see.

He squeezes my hand gently.

"I'm so proud of you," he states softly, voice filled with emotion.

I don't know what he's proud of, that I survived? Hardly a feat, if I'd been there another few days, I'd probably have died from my injuries, and I didn't do nearly enough to fight back, to stop him from what he did to me. I don't say any of this of course.

My eyes start to feel heavy with exhaustion and he notices, smiling gently at me.

"Go to sleep son, you're safe now."

I'm still not sure I believe that.


	20. Chapter 20

I spend an agonizing week in the hospital, and I'm itching to get out by the end of it. When they finally do let me go, the doctor isn't convinced I'm ready, but I threaten to just check myself out anyway. The next issue becomes an argument on where I'm to go when I get out. Frankly I just want to go home, to my own bed, to wallow in my own self pity and pain but no one agrees with this idea, except Bobby who finally comes to my aid and convinces my aunt to just come stay with me at my house as the trade off. She doesn't understand why I don't want to go to her place, why I would put myself through the drive, but I don't know how to explain myself. I get fixated on something and I can't tear away, a problem I've always had but it's more acute now. Maybe it's because that's where he took me from, or maybe its because he's being held in the jail in Milwaukee, who knows.

The drive is long and painful, and I get a reproachful look from my aunt every time I make a sound of pain from the back seat of my car. Bobby drives. Somehow he's part of my family now, it's all very strange, but comforting at the same time.

Thick snow has fallen in Chicago as well, the air is icy and moving me up the driveway becomes a world wide crisis. Both of them are terrified I'll fall, rip my stitches and break my other leg. But eventually they get me to the door, clearing a path through all the flowers and cards and other mementoes lining the stairs and walkway. I appreciate the thought, but looking at all the stuff just feels morbid now, like its a memorial for someone who died and I'm not dead, not yet anyway, so long as I don't slip on the ice.

Anton steps out on his front porch as we are going in, nods at me, face as stern as ever but I think I see a hint of a smile just before I go in the door.

The house is quiet and I call Steve, since Bobby told me he never made it in the house when he came to get my cat, Dean grabbed him in the driveway. I fill with hope that maybe he's still in the house, just waiting for me to get home, but I get no response to my calls and when I see his food dish on the floor I start sobbing and they whisk me towards the bedroom, my aunt attempting to calm me down.

I fall asleep almost immediately, or pass out might be the better terminology. When I wake up again my eyes are crusty and sore and my cheeks are tight with dried tears.

Getting up alone is a very slow, groan inducing process, but I somehow get standing wobbling on my right leg, left hand clutching the crutch despite my cast and I start hobbling towards the bathroom.

My aunt hears me before I get two feet and comes in giving me shit for not calling for help. The scent of her turkey soup follows her in and my stomach grumbles.

We stumble down the hall, making quite the pair as her tiny frame tries to keep me up, and she makes comments about how much weight I've lost.

The bathroom lights are too bright when I go in, so I shut them off, using the natural light from the window as my guide. I avoid looking in the mirror, I do not want to see my face, can't stand the thought. He coveted me partly because of my face, seeing it now would just bring back the memories and I'm barely holding them at bay as it is.

Peeing with two bandaged up hands is a bit of a hassle, but I'm not about to ask for help. Nor do I ask for help when I come out, even though she asked me to. The moments of me being ok with being touched are few and fleeting, even though she's my family. Fingers and hands on me is something I'm having trouble with, it's part of the reason I wanted out of the hospital so badly. When the doctor came to check my internal stitches, snapping on a rubber glove, I about tore through the bed trying to get away. They gave me the name of a therapist as I was leaving, I wonder where that card went.

I find Bobby in the living room, moving from foot to foot, clearly wanting to jump forward to help me, but at the same time he's figured out my aversion and is doing his best to respect it. I appreciate that.

"We told everyone to give you some time, when you got home to settle back in," he states evenly and I sigh in relief. But as I sink down to the couch, lying the full length of it, I can see a media van parked out front through the slit in the curtain, clearly someone closed that to either keep me from seeing them, or them from seeing in to me.

Bobby follows my gaze and stands quickly again, overlapping the curtain trying to close it more.

"The media is outside?" I ask, trying to wrap my head around this piece of information.

"Yeah," Bobby grunts out. "Vultures, it's been a damn circus all day since they figured out you were home."

"Bobby, we agreed not to tell him," my aunt hollers from the kitchen and I feel a tad indignant.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" I demand, my voice shakes though, losing some of its impact.

"Your aunt thinks it will upset you," Bobby says to me before talking louder for my aunt to hear. "I told you Shelly, it's impossible to hide from him, so we might as well help him get used to it."

Get used to it? How bad are we talking here? It's not like I'm someone famous.

Bobby reads my confusion on my face and picks up the TV remote. I stare at him a little longer, seeing his profile better I can just make out the bruises sticking out from under his hat, the deep marks on his wrists from the cuffs. He's still pale, dark circles under his eyes and I feel guilty for not being more considerate of the fact that he was kidnapped too, beaten and locked in a basement. He must have been terrified.

"I'm sorry Bobby, I..." He glances at me, takes in my stricken expression and waves his hand at me.

"I'm fine kid, tough as old boots me, and you're gonna be fine too, we'll make sure of it."

I catch the we, wonder how much he and my aunt have gotten to know each other this week, while I've been in the hospital. She didn't even question him driving us home.

My questions leave my head when I turn to the TV however. That one media van was clearly just a single drop in the ocean. I can see from the shot the camera is taking now that the street is lined with reporters and cameras, the lens' blinking in the sun. My heart speeds up, I hate being the centre of attention, and I feel trapped, like I'm back with Dean, the centre of his attention, being forced to perform for him.

I watch as Anton comes out, shaking his fist at them and yelling, can almost hear him through the closed windows, so I know the shot is live.

I close my eyes and cover my ears, it's too much, I can't handle this.

The room darkens as Bobby shuts the TV off and I feel him sit next to me on the couch, the movement sending a ripple of pain through my body.

He slides his arm around me, pulling my head up on his shoulder and starts shushing me quietly.

"I'm sorry kid, your aunt was right, I shouldn't have showed you."

I sink against him, there is some strange safety in his arms, I can't explain it, but maybe it's because I trust him, or maybe it's because we went through it together, I don't know. Just another thing in a long list of things I don't know.

The doorbell rings and Bobby grumbles in his chest, something mumbled along the lines of people ignoring his request to stay away a few days, it includes a few choice curses and the word idjits.

My aunt comes in and sits on the other side of me and I'm transferred over to her, smaller arms wrapping around me as Bobby stands up and goes to the door.

I can tell by his footsteps that he's not happy with whoever it is, and I hear him wrench the door open a few seconds later, but instead of hearing him telling off whoever is on the step, I just hear a surprised 'oh' and then he ushers the person in.

I sit up more, curious and nervous at the same time, but Anton hobbles in, cane in one hand, large cardboard box in the other. He surveys me for a moment, frowning before speaking.

"I don't like those people out there, stepping on my grass, will ruin the spring growth, they look like insects, swarming around a piece of food, I called the police to come get them you know." His voice rises at the end, as though we will protest his action, but I'm grateful.

"Thank you, I want them gone too." His face relaxes and he nods again.

"Found this outside after you disappeared, not happy about keeping it but I figured if you made it back you might want it."

He puts the box down on the coffee table rather unceremoniously and a muffled meow precedes a red tabby head popping out the top.

"Steve!" I almost leap forward, pain gripping me stopping my movement as I groan. He hears my voice and shoves his way out of the box entirely, jumping across to the couch and rubs his body across my chest, wet nose against my chin as he purrs.

I cradle him against me, tears dripping down my cheeks and my gratitude overwhelms me. I look up at Anton, and he stares down at me in pity, at the sounds I made in pain.

"Thank you," is the best I can manage at the moment.

He nods and steps towards the door.

"Just keep it off my lawn." He states before going out the door and I almost laugh, if it didn't hurt so much.

"You have some interesting neighbours kid," Bobby mumbles as he comes back in.

My aunt goes into the kitchen and dishes out soup, putting a pile of turkey on a plate for Steve.

My energy level waning, I'm hauled back to bed after dinner, Steve trailing behind meowing, but he soon settles beside me and we both fall asleep quickly.

 

* * *

 

The moratorium on visiting me lasts 24 hours, as do most of the media. The cold wind and pounding snow drives them off the street, though they keep a running feed on progress in the case from the courthouse lobby. I ignore it.

The nightmares intensify, I wake screaming and unable to get my breath almost every hour through the night. Each one is different, a revisit of each time he raped me, and they are so vivid I can still feels his hands on my body, dick inside me when I wake up.

Bobby and my aunt do their best, but getting back to reality isn't easy for me.

Mornings find us all exhausted, dark circles even blacker under our eyes, matching the coffee in the mugs in front of us.

Neither one asks me about what Dean did to me. I know my aunt knows, the doctors must have told her some things, but I think asking me would just give her too many details she doesn't want to think about.

Bobby doesn't ask because he knows already, he heard it. He may not have been watching, but he heard enough. He has the hardest time of the two of them with my screaming during the night. His eyes are wild when he comes in, as though he can't tell the difference between reality and nightmares himself.

The doorbell rings at 8:30 one morning, just as he is starting to sip his first cup of coffee, and he grunts, mumbles 'balls' and gets up to go answer it, affixing his hat to his head as he does. Rose comes barreling in moments later, her hands carrying a large wicker basket that she deposits on the table before coming towards me, wailing my name.

I hit the floor trying to get away, seeing green eyes instead of her brown ones and she stops in shock.

My aunt crouches next to me, bracing me, face full of worry and anger, not something I see on her very often.

"I know you mean well, but you can't just charge up to him." She throws over her shoulder at Rose, teeth clenched.

"Castiel, sweetie, I'm sorry." Rose stands awkwardly in the kitchen, fingers still itching to come towards me and I know she means no harm. Rose is a kind woman.

"It's ok, I'm sorry..." I almost add, 'I'm struggling', but I don't want Bobby or my aunt to hear that. My entire body is shaking and I have a brief moment of memories and reality clashing again, his face swimming in front me intermittently.

Rose nods and steps out of the way as Bobby helps me back up to the chair. I feel some dampness on my ass, I've ripped a stitch dammit.

"I'm happy you're home darling, we've missed you around here." Rose says after I'm sitting, awkwardly as the burn from the ripped stitches starts to grow.

"I've brought you some muffins I baked, raspberry bran, thought it might help you get your strength up..." She trails off. My little flip out has clearly unnerved her entirely.

"Thank you Rose, I'm sorry again..." I trail off too, my inability to function in social situations at the best of times has clearly not prepared me for this.

She nods and steps towards me and I try to relax, remind myself who she is, but this time she doesn't reach out her hands or anything, just gives me a quick peck on my forehead, in the area not taped and stitched and leaves, a blast of cold air blowing through the house from the door.

I rub my eyes, exhaustion washing over me again as my ass stings and throbs. I need to do something about that, but I really don't want to go back to the hospital, so I need to hide it for now, and I think I can until I glance up at Bobby's suspicious face.

"You ok from that fall?"

As if on cue my hip starts to throb too and I wince without meaning to.

"Didn't think so, how bad?"

"Just my hip, I think it'll be fine, just need to take it easy."

He continues to stare at me and I feel myself shrinking a little under it.

"Castiel, you need to tell us, we can't have you risking infection."

I sigh loudly, trying to express annoyance and my shoulder twinges.

"I may have ripped some stitches," I mumble quietly.

Bobby sighs loudly too.

"Bleeding?"

"Only a little, I'll be fine, I don't want to go back to the hospital, please," I beg a little and watch him crumble. He's heard me beg before, heard me be denied, and can't do it himself. I feel guilty instantly for using that tactic on him.

"Fine, if it gets worse, you go though." He states evenly and I nod.

He helps me up and into the bathroom and stands outside the closed door while I clean myself up. Because of my casts, I can't get in the bath or shower and I already feel disgusting. I scrub what I can and clean up the blood, and am relieved to see its not very much at all, I'll be fine.

Avoiding the mirror when standing at the sink is damn near impossible, no matter how hard I try. I catch glimpses of my dark hair, hollowed eyes, angry scars and each time I cringe and have to stop and close my eyes and breathe.

When I'm finally done and dressed in clean clothes, Bobby helps me to the couch and I lie down, hoping to have a nap when the doorbell rings again.

"How many neighbours should we be expecting here?" Bobby asks, not really directing the question at me, just asking in general.

He goes to answer it while my aunt tucks a duvet around me, brushing my hair back and smiling at me lovingly.

My next visitors come in quietly, both clearly trying not to startle me, or maybe they are startled by me. Ellen has lost her usual critical stare, replaced by shock and sadness, while Jo tries to smile at me in a friendly way, but it doesn't reach her eyes, instead tears slowly trickle down her cheeks.

Gratitude rushes over me at seeing Ellen. She got my messages, she's the one who basically saved me and my throat feels tight.

She walks up to me slowly, eyes never leaving mine as she kneels next to the couch and gently hugs me, and I let her, giving in and sinking against her for a few moments.

She sits back on her heels after, fingers still brushing through my hair gently and I can see tears unshed in her eyes.

"Hey you, we were getting pretty scared we weren't going to see you again." Her voice is the same, but with less edge now, and she smiles at me and I smile back, relief washing over me, a sense that maybe it is going to be ok, that I will be ok. I better hang on to it, I know it won't last.

Jo comes up behind her, smiles at me again, this time it's more relaxed and she waves her hand at me quickly, the tears brushed away from her face.

"Hey Cas, how are you feeling?" She asks and then stops short. "Oh sorry, stupid question right?"

I shake my head. Decide not to lie.

"No, it's ok, I'm here and that's the first step I guess." They both nod and I catch a glimpse of my aunt over Ellen's shoulder. She's staring at Ellen hard, and I remember what my aunt thinks of her and inwardly cringe.

The front door opens again and Gabe and Bill pour into the room, followed by Meg and Lisa. We all exchange pleasantries, some are more uncomfortable with what happened to me than others but they all came just the same.

For whatever reason, they all feel the need to apologize for Dean, for not seeing it sooner and stopping it, but I assure them there was nothing they could have done or known, even Bobby agrees with that.

They all hug me and then Bobby as they leave, Ellen giving me an extra hand squeeze on the way out. I think our relationship must have changed the moment she got those texts, knew that I trusted her with my life, to save me. That's a lot of responsibility and she pulled it off. I'll forever be in her debt.

The house is quiet after they leave and I start to doze on the couch while my aunt cooks dinner and Bobby watches some TV.

When I hear Jeopardy coming on, I make him change the station. Just another thing Dean ruined for me.

It's almost 8 when the doorbell rings again. My aunt is in the kitchen doing the dishes and Bobby stares toward the door suspicious for a few seconds before glancing at me and getting up.

I start to shake a little, fear running through me that something crazy happened like Dean got out of jail and he's here to collect me, take me back.

I hear voices at the front door, one I don't recognize and Bobby, who sounds confused and agitated.

"I'm not here to cause trouble, I just hoped I could talk to him for a minute... apologize." Says the unfamiliar voice and confusion runs over me. Who is this and why do they want to apologize to me? My aunt steps out of the kitchen and looks at me, confused as well.

Bobby comes in, face like an angry bull, but a much taller man follows him. His hair is dark, longer and he nervously tucks it behind his ears. His eyes are gentle, brown and he has a friendly smile. He shifts from foot to foot on his tall lanky frame as the three of us stare at him, one with open hostility, and he clears his throat and waves awkwardly at us.

"Uh, hi," he starts, his voice is soft, warm and has a familiar note to it that makes ice drip down my spine.

"Listen, I don't want to impose, but I just wanted to see you, talk to you for a second, apologize for my brother, though I know that that is probably no where near what you need right now, but..." He trails off as the words sink in.

Dean's brother, this is Sam, the law student, except he doesn't really look like one to be honest. He's wearing jeans, that are a little rough on the knees, a red plaid shirt and a worn brown corduroy coat on top. Now that I know he's Dean's brother I start searching for the similarities, even though I don't want to see them. They don't look much alike at all truthfully, Sam's features are almost delicate, and even though he's a much larger man, he carries himself more gently, less stomping swagger and more quiet awkwardness. I try not to hate him, but it's tough.

"Did you know what he was doing?" I ask through gritted teeth, anger suddenly flaring inside me. Dean is his brother, how did he miss the fact that his own brother is a psycho.

Sam looks at me, brows furrowed with remorse.

"No, no I didn't, and you may not believe that, but I honestly didn't. He hid it well from me, assured me that it wasn't him the last time."

Bobby's head snaps up.

"The last time was my son, how did you not figure it out?"

Sam sighs, eyes closed for a second in sadness.

"I was suspicious when Jason was found, yes, I quit school, came to live with Dean for a year to keep an eye on him, but my brother is a master at lying, at hiding shit, he fooled me."

His voice drops down at the end, disappointment in himself apparent.

"I should never have gone back to California." His eyes come back up to me. "I am so sorry. If  I had stayed..." He swallows hard, emotion clouding his ability to speak.

I nod, I believe him.

"Listen, I'm not going to defend him, not even going to help him now, he's on his own. I only came here to apologize to you, get some stuff of my moms he has and go back home."

I nod again, and Bobby sits down, his anger gone as he nods as well.

"Again, I'm sorry to disturb you, I'll go and I promise I won't contact you again. Take care."

Sam turns and leaves, none of us stop him or say anything until he leaves, and then my aunt huffs in annoyance.

"Well that was nervy, why did you let him in Bobby."

Bobby glances up at her in surprise.

"Kid wanted to say his piece, I decided to let Castiel choose to hear it or not."

They both look at me, checking for a reaction but I don't know how to, so I shrug slightly.

I try not to let his sudden appearance unnerve me. That must be a Winchester trait, just suddenly appearing in your life, but only time will tell if he keeps his word and leaves me alone.

I fall asleep on the couch and wake up a few hours later, screaming and crying.


	21. Chapter 21

The next few weeks fly by in fits of panic and nightmares interspersed with visits from people. Ellen and Jo come everyday, checking on me, bringing groceries and my aunt is almost civil on the third day.

The detectives also come, and I am required to give a statement of details of what happened, all of it. I spend several hour afterwards shaking and vomiting.

A new symptom creeps in as well, catatonic spells, where I find myself suddenly stopped, staring at nothing, overcome with terror from the most basic things like the smell of wood burning, or warm water on my face. Neither Bobby or my aunt knows how to break me out of these moments, I just come to, body rigid and in pain and it takes me a while to shake off the memories.

When I add screaming with my hands over my ears my aunt calls the therapist.

Dr. Crowley is a nice enough guy, a little gruff, his voice is deep, accented and he dresses impeccably, but he doesn't coddle me, and for some reason I like that. He listens to me, doesn't pat my hand and sympathize, instead he tries to help me find ways of coping, things that I come up with, my own methods so I'm more comfortable with them.

He comes to court when the trial begins. Sits beside me, not holding my hand, but just a strong presence, keeping me upright. The room is full of people supporting me. It's funny how I spent so much time thinking how alone I was in the world, when there were all these people in my life and I didn't even realize it.

Maybe they're here because of what happened, but that doesn't really matter now, just that they are here.

Dean's lawyer spends a week attempting to get him declared insane before Dean does the unthinkable and declares himself guilty. I don't go to sentencing and I never see his brother at the courthouse, so far he's keeping his word. I'm not sure what changed Deans mind, he spent every day in that court staring at me, eyes wide and confused and hurt, like he didn't understand why I was doing this to him. Maybe his lawyer is right, he's insane, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't be punished.

I'm told by Dr. Crowley that Dean will spend the rest of his life in prison. Bobby remarks that it's unfortunate that neither Wisconsin or Illinois have the death penalty. I disagree with him, death would be too easy of a way out for him. I want him to suffer.

As the pain and fear ebb away, I find myself getting more and more angry, at what he did to me, what he stole from me and revenge colours my judgement for a while before it too ebbs away.

 

* * *

 

_Three months later_

"You sure you're ready for this?" Bobby asks me again, hands gripping the steering wheel. My hip is still not quite healed, so I'm not clear to drive yet and I still walk with a cane. Besides that, I look more like myself. My forehead healed better than we could have hoped for, a soft pale pink patch of skin is all that remains. The stitches are all out, the cast on my arm and leg off and my shoulder is much better, the rehab is really helping.

Mentally, I suppose I'm getting better. I only wake up once a night screaming now, and I'm able to get back to reality a lot faster, the catatonic spells have stopped.

Dean is in solitary confinement now, and they expect he will stay there for the rest of his sentence. Turns out the gang bangers he is in prison with take exception to what he did to me. He's been beaten to a pulp a few times and once they found a broom stick shoved up his ass, a poor attempt at making him feel what I felt I guess. I don't know how I feel about this method of justice, I hear others saying that he deserves it, for what he did, and while I'm still scarred, haunted and horrified by what he did to me, I don't feel anything either way. Maybe I'm just beyond feeling, numb to his suffering, I don't know.

Today is my first day back at work. Safe to say no one but me likes this idea. My aunt and Ellen, who are now inexplicably best friends since my aunt has decided once and for all that Ellen isn't secretly in love with me, sat me down last night and questioned me at length about this decision.

But I want to go back, I want a normal life again. Living every day as the invalid, the guy who was kidnapped and brutally raped and is hiding in his house is not the way to move forward. Dr. Crowley supports this decision, at least he thinks I'm ready, and it's hard for the others to argue with a medical professional, so they finally had to just back down.

The office building looks the same as it always did, dingy in the dirty snow melting on the sidewalk out front. It's March, a Monday, we are having a warming spell in Chicago and it seems to have brightened the population up, hints of impending spring in the air. People rush by wearing lighter coats and relaxed smiles as the sun beats down on them, creating puddles in the ice.

Bobby parks the car in the lot, he got his old Chevelle back, something that made him smile for the first time in a long while.

We held a memorial for Jason a month ago, at his grave and then at my house after. Everyone brought food and the house was brimming with people there to support Bobby, to make up for not doing it sooner I guess. I'm just as guilty of that myself, I didn't even know Jason was his son or that he'd been murdered and we worked together.

I think that Bobby feels a little lighter now, that his sons life has been remembered, that he has been vindicated finally, the truth is out.

It also could be because he's no longer alone too.

Neither of them have left my house, it's sort of strange living with my aunt and Bobby all the time, a little family of sorts and I'm fairly certain something is going on between them, and it's become an amusing game to try to catch them out. I need some fun I suppose, and this is how I find it.

We take our time heading inside, we are early anyway, and so I walk slowly, hobble more like with my cane, and throw my head back, the heat of the sun warming my cheeks.

I guess I feel hopeful. That I can finally start to put the past behind me. I don't think I'm rushing it, this is my pace, I have to start sometime.

Apprehension grips me when we are in the door, the smell of plastic tickling my nose, bringing back a wash of memories, but I close my eyes, breathe and focus on what's around me now, one of my coping techniques.

Bobby insists on walking me to my desk, and I don't argue, there's no point anyway.

The elevator arrives far quicker than before, he tells me they fixed it, I mildly say that it's about time.

My floor is bustling already, even though I'm early, Ellen greets us as we get off the elevator and she smiles, eyes damp as she takes me in.

She gives me a warm hug and then presses a box into my hand, with a small gold bow on top.

"A welcome back present."

I pull the top off and find a lovely gold tie clip inside and can't help but laugh out loud.

"Thank you, it's perfect."

She affixes it to my shirt, pinning my tie in perfect position before leading me into the office.

Streamers and balloons hang from every surface and a big 'Welcome Back Castiel' sign is hung across the windows and everyone starts cheering. I'm so taken aback I stumble and about fall over, Bobby's quick hands catching me on one side, and Jo's on the other, I throw her a grateful smile.

Just another reminder how not alone I am. Emotion bubbles inside me and my throat gets tight. They swarm me almost immediately, hugs, kisses and words of encouragement abound and don't stop for almost an hour.

Sitting back at my desk is overwhelming for a minute, but I settle back in quickly. Funny how I used to hate this job, this place, now I wouldn't trade it for anything.

 

* * *

 

_Convicted Rapist and Murderer Dean Winchester was found dead this morning in the showers at the Menard Correctional Center, where he had been serving a life sentence plus 40 years for the murder and sexual assault of Jason Singer and the abduction and sexual assault of Castiel Novak._

_Officials are saying that several inmates stormed the showers and assaulted the 37 year old man, who was three years into his sentence, beating him before sodomizing him with the end of a spatula. Winchester died as a result of head trauma and the correctional center remains under lockdown at this time._

_Castiel Novak, Dean Winchesters living victim, refused to issue a statement, but we have learned that he recently married his girlfriend of one year, Jo Harvelle, in a quiet ceremony at their home in Chicago. Novak is a manager of accounts at Plastics Incorporated._

_Dean's younger brother Sam Winchester was unable to be reached for comment, it is strongly suspected he has changed his name._

* * *

_fin  
_


End file.
